


Patria Potestas: Blood Ties

by JBankai89



Series: Patria Potestas [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: EWE, Eventual mpreg, Forced Marriage, Godcest, Godfather-Godson Relationship, M/M, Mild Angst, PostWar, Sirius Lives, Slow Burn, courtship fic, courtship rituals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-31
Updated: 2017-03-23
Packaged: 2018-09-21 04:29:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 53,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9531536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JBankai89/pseuds/JBankai89
Summary: Harry wakes on his twenty-fifth birthday to find that his magic has become dangerously unstable. A pureblood charm laid upon the Potter line appears to be the cause, and he must take part in an ancient courtship ritual to wed and produce heirs in order to save himself from losing his magic completely. The only problem is the person his magic has fixated upon happens to be the last person Harry would ever consider having a romantic relationship with: His godfather, Sirius Black.





	1. The Curse

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: The only major canon divergence is that Sirius isn't dead (obviously). The details of the courtship ritual were pulled from Roman and Victorian traditions, as well as suggestions from people on various Facebook writing groups. Please note that there will be explicit Mpreg and body modification in the followup fic to this one, and I'm saying this now so that you don't get a nasty surprise if you're not into that. **You have been warned**. (Also, just because I am posting this does not mean I am ignoring certain other incomplete projects—I'm always working on a bunch of things at once, so I promise nothing is being put on the back burner in order to work on this.)

Chapter One – The Curse

 

**31 st July, 2004**

 

Of all the ways Harry had expected to wake up on the morning of his twenty-fifth birthday, _this_ hadn't made the list.

Laying in his bed, his body was heavy with drowsiness, and he hadn't even fully woken up when his _wand_ had decided to go all wonky.

Fleetingly, Harry wondered if it was from mending his wand with the Elder Wand. He could come up with no other possible explanation for why his Summoning Charm for his glass of water hadn't worked at first, then on his second attempt it shot at him with the force of a short-range missile. Years of deeply ingrained Seeker skills enabled him to dodge it, and it shattered against the wall instead of his against his face.

Harry mended the glass and cleaned up the mess, but he still felt _off_. Was it just his wand? Was something wrong with his _magic_?

Harry sat up with a groan, feeling as though he'd turned eighty-five instead of twenty-five, and he shook his head in an effort to dispel the strange weariness that refused to leave him. The more he woke up and got his bearings, the more he began to suspect that it wasn't necessarily related to his magic, and more likely he'd caught something.

“Brilliant,” he mumbled as he swung his legs over the edge of the bed and got onto unsteady feet. “Of course I'd get ill on my _birthday_ of all days.”

Harry traipsed to the toilet and looked in the mirror to find that he looked worse than usual. His skin was waxy, very pale, and it had a distinct oily tint to it, as though he hadn't washed in several days. Harry raked a hand through his hair, and it stood on end of its own accord. At least _that_ hadn't changed.

 

Harry washed, breakfasted (as much as he could, given that he had no appetite whatsoever) and tried to do something productive around his little flat—work on his ongoing writing project, do the dishes, dust—but no matter what he did, he still felt like death. After the water glass incident that morning, he hadn't dared try to do any more magic, and he felt strangely cut off from it, which he didn't think was a good sign.

 

In the early afternoon, Harry reluctantly wrote a short letter to Molly extending his apologies that he couldn't come for his birthday. He sent it off with his new owl, a tiny thing called Napoleon, and then turned to his Floo.

“Flat of Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger,” he said as clearly as he could, and tossed the glittering powder in. “Hermione, you there?” he called when the connection opened. “I really need you to come through.”

Hermione's head appeared in his fire grate, looking concerned.

“Harry?” she asked, brow furrowing, “what's wrong? I thought I was seeing you at the Burrow this evening.”

“I cancelled, could you come through? I think I'm getting ill or something...and something's off with my magic.”

His latter statement seemed to be the proverbial magic words, as a second later Hermione's spinning form toppled out of his fireplace. She stood up quickly and brushed ash off her robes, her face lined with worry.

“What's wrong with your magic?” Hermione asked without preamble, already brandishing her wand and looking every part Trainee Healer Hermione Granger. Harry appreciated her taking the matter so seriously—not that she wouldn't. Harry was rarely one to claim illness, and therefore she knew that if Harry said that he was ill, then he really _was_ ill.

“I dunno,” he said, sitting down heavily upon the settee, “I woke up this morning and I felt kind of off, like I was cut off from my magic, and I tried a summoning charm, and first it didn't really work, and the second time it flew at me like a Bludger.”

“Hmm,” she stepped over to him and flicked her wand up and down his form, her brow knitted together in concentration. “And it started this morning?”

“Yeah, when I woke up,” Harry replied just as Hermione flicked her wand once more, and a small scroll materialized in front of her. She unrolled it quickly, and her eyes zipped across the paper, taking in the information quickly.

“Well, your diagnostic says that your magic is unstable...some sort of familial charm or curse woven into your blood...” she said, trailing off as she continued to study the parchment.

“Does it say what kind of charm or curse or whatever is doing this?” Harry asked, feeling his chest tighten at the mere thought that it was thanks to his _family_ that he felt like death.

“No, I'll have to look into it,” Hermione said while she rolled up the scroll and pocketed it. “Harry I'm going to let Ron know that you're ill, so if it gets worse just send your owl to him or call him by Floo, whatever is easier. I'll try to get an answer for you soon, all right?”

Before Harry could nod, she was already jumping back into his fireplace.

Harry made himself a tea, then transported it back to bed with him. His head was spinning far too much to even entertain the idea of trying to be productive, and as he lay there, alternating between dozing and drinking the tea, he was vaguely surprised that Sirius hadn't come to see him. He could mother hen as badly as Mrs Weasley could at the best of times, and his absence wasn't exactly worrying, but it was curious.

The sun had begun to sink on the horizon before Hermione came back, and she tapped his bedroom door twice before slipping inside, her expression troubled as she forced a small smile.

“How are you feeling?” She asked, and the false pleasantness in her voice told Harry that whatever she found out, it wasn't good.

“Same as before,” he mumbled groggily as he sat up. “What'd you find out?”

“Well, I ran your symptoms by my supervisor,” she began, her voice carrying a strange tremor, “and he knew at once what it was, and this was backed up by—er, another, um, patient that was admitted to hospital this morning.”

“Hermione,” Harry said wearily, cutting her nervous rambling short, “just get to the point.”

“Erm, it's a bloodline charm called _Patria Potestas_. Roughly translated, it means Will of the Father. It's a charm that many old pureblooded families used to ensure that their bloodlines continued,” she said in a rush, “er, my supervisor told me some things about it, but they didn't have all the details. Basically, it only comes into effect if there's only one living person connected to the bloodline left, and no heir. It will activate on the day of that person's twenty-fifth birthday, but _only_ if they are unattached—not seeing anyone, that is—and if there is an eligible partner around.”

“Oh, spectacular,” Harry grumbled, “I come out, break it off with Ginny, and now I'll have to get _back together_ with her to knock her up with a kid or two, this is—”

“—It-it's not Ginny,” Hermione said, cutting him off with a nervous mumble. “Um, in the wizarding world orientation is considered by the spell, since it doesn't take much to er...temporarily alter the male body in order to bear children, but, Harry, maybe this is wrong maybe—”

“—Hermione,” Harry said, cutting her off. “Who is it? Malfoy?” He asked, and laughed, but when her expression didn't change his face fell. “Oh God, it isn't Malfoy, is it?”

“Well, no...”

“Then who?” Harry asked, and again Hermione clammed up, looking positively horrified. Harry gave her a hard look, and she bowed her head, mumbling something so softly that he couldn't make heads or tails of it.

“Hermione, for the love of God, spit it out already,” Harry snapped, and she flushed a little.

“It's—it's—Harry, it's Sirius. _Potestas_ is trying to force you to marry your godfather,” Hermione said, her eyes filling with tears.

Whomever Harry had been expecting Hermione to name, Sirius hadn't even crossed his mind.

Not that he would—Harry had always seen Sirius like an uncle, or a second father figure, nothing more. Hermione's anguished words struck him dumb, and Harry stared at her blankly, certain that she'd made some sort of horrible mistake.

“Sirius came in to St Mungo's this morning with similar symptoms to yours,” she continued with a small sniffle, “m-my supervisor said likely the spell doesn't recognize godparents as a familial link, because it's such a new concept to wizarding culture. And they said that until you two initiate a courtship rite, the symptoms will get steadily worse until your magic basically burns out of you both, and you'll wind up like a squib.”

Harry raked a shaking hand through his hair as he stared at Hermione. _Marry_ his godfather? This couldn't possibly be right. 

“I went to see Sirius,” Hermione continued, her voice weak, “h-he figured it out straightaway, growing up in a pureblooded household and all, um...” she paused, and fished a slightly creased scroll from her pocket. “He wanted me to give this to you, and told me that he'll come to talk to you when you're ready.”

Harry hesitated, and stared at the little scroll in Hermione's hand as though it had teeth. Heaving a despondent sigh, he took it from her and set it aside. He was still working through the shock, and reading anything from Sirius right now made him feel slightly ill. Hermione watched him with sad, sympathetic eyes, then leant in and pulled him into a tight hug.

“Oh, Harry, I'm so sorry,” she said sadly, and when she pulled back her eyes were shining with unshed tears, “it's just so unfair...everything seems to happen to you, doesn't it?”

Harry laughed weakly, remembering when Hagrid had once uttered those same words to him, and he hated how they still rang true. Yes, everything did seem to happen to him, and he was so numbed by the shock of it that he felt like he could do little more than stare blankly at his bedroom wall. _Marry_ his godfather? It was beyond shocking—it was positively ludicrous.

 

Full dark came on around them as they sat there, not really speaking, his friend merely keeping him company as he tried to ride out the shock over what she had told him. Hermione made him another tea before she headed home for the night, and she set it down pointedly next to the untouched scroll, then leant in to hug him again.

“Contact me by the Floo or send me an owl if you need _anything_ , all right?”

“'Course,” Harry replied as he returned the hug. “I'll be all right, Hermione, don't worry about me.”

As she pulled back, she offered him one last watery smile before she slipped out of the bedroom door, and he listened to his Floo flare to life as she left.

 

Harry stared at the little scroll on his night table for a long time after Hermione had left. The mere sight of it made him feel distinctly uneasy, and he felt as though he'd rather take a dozen Blast-Ended Skrewts on a walk than look at the letter. He didn't want this— _any_ of this. But like at least half a dozen other instances in his life, he had no choice.

With a defeated sigh, Harry picked up the scroll and broke the seal, then reluctantly unrolled the letter.

 

 

_Harry,_

 

 _I know this came as a shock to you, as much as it did to me. I passed the_ Potestas _age while I was still in Azkaban, and since nothing happened at that time, I assumed that it wouldn't affect me. Clearly, I was wrong._

_As I am sure Hermione explained to you, until we initiate (or more particularly, I will initiate) a courtship ritual, the curse will continue to mess around with our magic._

_I grew up learning about these rites, so I'm fairly familiar with what would need to happen. We don't exactly have a choice here, Harry, and I am as thrilled about this as you are, believe me. But, I am just trying to explain things here as clinically as I can without my feelings on the matter getting in the way._

 

 _Because I am the older one of the two of us, I would be considered the Suitor, and you, the Intended. This means absolutely nothing is expected of you whatsoever. I am the one who begins the rite, who organizes the outings, all of that. It is a two-month long courtship, which upon announcement of the engagement at the end of the two months, we have a further six months to actually wed, and then five years before we need to concern ourselves with the latter expectations of_ Potestas _(producing heirs)._

_The first step (that will also clear up our illness) is the Rite of Intent. It has to be performed by me at the new moon, but I will not do that until you feel ready to start this. Once it begins, there will be no going back. We can sit and discuss it if you like, but since the curse is already affecting us, it would be best for Hermione to join us at our meetings. You and I will both be required to choose a chaperone in order to protect your 'virtue' during the courtship. I know it sounds ridiculous, but Victorian wizards were incredibly prim and proper._

_I don't want to overwhelm you with too much information, but as I said, send me an owl when you're ready to talk._

 

_Sirius_

 

Harry stared at the letter, unable to believe what he was seeing. _Marriage? Heirs?_ It was too much.

Harry jumped from his bed, staggered to the toilet, and promptly lost the contents of his stomach.

 

**4 th August, 2004**

 

“Harry!” Hermione called, and Harry groaned. “I'm coming in, I hope you're decent!”

Her shrill voice echoed through the silent flat, and she let herself into the bedroom, where Harry was seated in a chair by the window, cradling another cup of tea in his hands, and trying to not look over to the crumpled wad of parchment in the corner of his bedroom, where he'd thrown the letter after realizing that he couldn't bear to look at it a second time.

As Hermione stepped inside, a hand went up to cover her nose and mouth as she choked. “Merlin's tit, Harry!” she cried as she took out her wand and began casting spells to clear the air of the stink. “What have you been _doing_? It smells like something crawled in here and died!”

“Nothing,” Harry mumbled, ignoring the very Ron-like exclamation, while not bothering to look up from his cup. “Just...sitting.”

“And when have you last showered or eaten?” She asked in a stern, almost maternal tone. He shrugged, and she grumbled in frustration.

Out of nowhere, Harry yelped as Hermione's thumb and forefinger latched on to the upper part of his ear, dug in her nails just enough for it to pinch, and she proceeded to drag him up from his seat, causing him to drop his mug, staining the front of his pyjamas with cold tea while the ceramic cracked in half against the hardwood foor. “Up you get, you stupid man, enough wallowing. You and I are going to work this out like proper adults, I don't care how damn uncomfortable you are about it!”

“Ow, ow! Hermione, let go!” Harry yelped as she dragged him from his room. Hermione escorted him to the lavatory, shoved him into the shower stall fully clothed, and flicked her wand to turn on the hot water. Harry yelped as it scorched his skin, and he quickly adjusted the temperature.

“Shower, Harry,” she said sternly from the other side of the frosted glass, “I'm not moving until I see suds.”

“Slave driver,” he grumbled while he peeled off his sodden pyjamas and lobbed them over the top of the shower stall, smirking in satisfaction as they landed on Hermione with a satisfying _splat!_ and yelp from her. Served her right for ambushing him, as far as Harry was concerned, as he begrudgingly grabbed the shampoo bottle off the shelf. As soon as he began washing she stepped outside, though Harry doubted that she had gone very far.

Fifteen minutes later, Harry stepped out of the shower to see that Hermione had laid out a towel and some fresh clothes for him. He quickly dried off (not daring to risk a drying spell, with his magic still being so unpredictable) before he donned the jeans and T-shirt that she had left out.

 

Harry would rather be doing _anything_ than discuss the situation at hand, but he had a feeling that Hermione would be quite content to stick around until they talked about it. He took a breath to steady himself, then opened the door to head out to the main area of his flat.

He found Hermione seated at his small dining table, a stack of parchment and two ancient-looking books stacked in front of her, and a styrofoam box that looked like muggle takeaway and unopened soft drink sat on the table across from her.

“Shut up and eat,” she said and Harry didn't dare argue with her as he popped open the container to find a steaming pork pie. He tucked in straightaway, and Hermione stayed silent until he'd finished. She banished both pieces of litter as he pushed them away, then finally looked over her stack of research as she focused on him.

“I've been doing my best to look into this—and talking to Sirius, since _you_ won't,” she said pointedly. At the mention of his godfather, Harry squirmed in his seat uneasily. “It looks like any attempt to break this spell might make things worse, at least according to the records I've found on this _Potestas_ thing,” she continued with a grimace. “The new moon is in a week, and we need to discuss what needs to happen next. You two need to go forward with this, like it or not. Your ancestors saw to that, and now you're stuck.”

“It just...” Harry began, and winced at how feeble his voice sounded. He cleared his throat and tried again. “It just feels so _wrong_ , Hermione. Sirius he—I mean, he's my _godfather_ for fuck's sake,” Harry said in a panic, and his friend looked on with a sympathetic look in her eye.

“I know Harry,” she said gently, “but it could be worse.”

“How could it possibly be worse?”

“At least it's not Malfoy,” she said, and Harry snorted.

“That's true,” Harry replied, smiling weakly.

“Harry,” Hermione began again, “I—I know it's not ideal, and it's a little...um, incestuous, almost. But...Sirius is a good man, isn't he?”

“He is,” Harry agreed, sighing heavily as he dropped his gaze to the table. “I mean, if this had to happen with someone twice my age I'm glad it was him, but...it still feels wrong.” Harry grimaced, and Hermione nodded a little in understanding. He sighed again, and refocused his gaze on her. “Okay, talk. What's my life gonna look like for the next two months?”

“It's going to be stressful, but Sirius is doing his best to make it as easy for you as he can,” Hermione began, while she shuffled through her stack of papers. “Erm, well, these wizards who came up with this spell were hyper paranoid of the Suitor taking advantage of the Intended, so you and he each need to pick a chaperone of the opposite to your interested sex—meaning someone of a gender you're not interested in, sexually.”

“So a girl then?” Harry asked, and she nodded.

“Yeah. They'll be present with you and Sirius for your, erm, outings together. As the courtship progresses, you'll be expected to get a little more physical—nothing sexual, like hand-holding and things like that.” Hermione's cheeks tinted pink in a way that told Harry it was probably more than just hand-holding. The concept of doing anything like that with Sirius, of all people, made Harry feel incredibly strange, and he quickly shook the image from his mind.

“So what's first, Hermione? Sirius mentioned something in his letter about a Rite of In-Intent,” Harry grimaced at his stammer; despite his attempt to look at everything clinically, like it didn't apply to him, it was harder than Harry expected it to be.

“Right, the Rite of Intent...” Hermione paused as she shuffled through her notes again. “Okay, here it is, Rite of Intent. Basically, it's expected to be a partially public ritual. On the night of the new moon, the Suitor will go to a Courtship Tree—the closest one that I found is on the edge of the Forbidden Forest near Hogsmeade—and they will tie a silver cord around it that has seven knots threaded through it. Then the Intended has two days to respond. If they accept the suit, they make this known by taking a red cord or ribbon and braiding it through the Suitor's, or taking a green one and tying it above it if they reject the suit.”

“Okay, then what?” Harry asked, doing his best to swallow his fear. It wasn't like he was being asked to die (again), it was just...something. Romance seemed too strong a word for whatever this was that he had to do with Sirius. Harry shivered again, and tried to focus on Hermione's words.

“After that, there's several rounds of outings and gifts given to you and your family. Each gift symbolizes something different, to show you that the Suitor will be able to meet your needs, care for you, stuff like that. At the end, there is supposed to be a celebration at the home of the Intended's family, a familial gift is given, and if the family approves of the Suitor, you'll be given an engagement ring, but that won't be for another two months.”

“Hang on,” Harry said, while he tried to work out what Hermione was saying to him, “you said that this –this _curse_ came into effect because I'm the last of my bloodline. Then how come there's a familial gift? If I'm the last, wouldn't the curse know that I have no family?”

“You're the last _Potter_ ,” Hermione said with a note of impatience in her voice, “if your mum was still alive, you would still be expected to follow through with this courtship. It's focused on _bloodlines_ , not just family.”

“Okay then, um, Hermione? What family?” Harry asked, raising an eyebrow, “does this thing really expect me to bring Sirius to meet the Dursleys?”

“There's something here about surrogate families,” she said while she motioned to her stack of notes, “as long as you view them as your family, the spell will react to them as such—I assumed you'd ask the Weasleys.” Harry nodded; she knew him well. The Weasleys were, for all intents and purposes, his family through and through.

“Okay,” Harry said with a heavy sigh, “Rite of Intent, gifts, outings, anything else?”

“Just the Negotiations, but that's sort of a formality after the engagement is made official, sort of like a Prenuptial Agreement,” she said, still watching him sadly.

“Brilliant,” Harry muttered, dropping his gaze to the table, “just what I've always wanted, for my entire life to be planned out for me.”

“I wish I had better news Harry,” Hermione said sadly, “but the longer you draw this out, the worse your symptoms will get.”

“I know, really, I do, it's just...it's _Sirius_.”

“I know Harry,” Hermione said gently. “Shall I...shall I tell him to go ahead with the rite?” she asked timidly, and Harry looked up at her. Harry knew that she already knew his answer. What choice did he have, really?

“Yeah,” Harry said dully, “tell him to go ahead with it.” 


	2. Rites and Rituals

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thank you so much everyone for all the lovely comments! It's even more rewarding to see a few of you who don't ship this ship giving this little fic a chance. At this point I have the first draft of 7 chapters complete, and so I'll be posting every Tuesday in order to give myself time to properly edit before I update this. Thanks again for reading, and I hope you guys enjoy this instalment! :)

Chapter Two – Rites and Rituals

 

 

**13 th August, 2004**

 

Harry did not know what he expected when he agreed to go forward with the courtship, but in hindsight, he felt like he should have anticipated some sort of press response—even if they didn't know that it involved _Harry Freaking Potter_.

 

Harry sat curled up on one end of the sofa while he stared down at the article, frowning as he regarded at the wizarding photograph of a large, towering oak, and blowing innocently in the breeze were the tassels of Sirius's silver cord. Harry felt his stomach twist uncomfortably at the sight of it; even after a week of bracing himself for the Rite of Intent, he still felt no more ready to do it.

 

The fact that his symptoms had cleared up the moment Sirius had enacted the Rite was further proof that that absolutely needed to proceed with the courtship in order to keep _Potestas_ in check. Despite Harry's best efforts to _not_ think about what that would eventually lead to—marriage, in particular _consummating_ the marriage—it was never far from his mind, and it never failed to send Harry spiralling into a dizzying panic. Harry shook his head as he felt his anxiety once more begin to build, and he refocused his attention upon the newspaper in his hands.

 

Below the photograph was a lengthy, sickeningly romantic article detailing the history of wizarding courtship rituals, the last time it was known to have been enacted, and a few words on the marriages themselves. It seemed at least that the people who took part in these rituals got their Happily Ever After, but given his history with Sirius, Harry found it incredibly difficult to imagine doing anything remotely romantic—much less sexual—with him—his _godfather_. It felt so deeply wrong on so many levels, and even picturing what would be expected of him over the coming weeks was enough to make Harry shudder.

 

  
A soft knock on the front door drew Harry from his thoughts, and he looked up to see Hermione letting herself into his flat, her face a little flushed as though she had been running. In her arms, she held a package wrapped in brown paper.

 

“I have your robes,” she said as she kicked her trainers off and walked over to him, setting the package down on the edge of the coffee table.

 

“Thanks,” he muttered as she sat down at the opposite end of the sofa from him, and he fixed his gaze upon the package.

 

“Explain to me again why Ron isn't helping me with all this?” Harry asked abruptly in an effort to keep the silence that had begun to settle between them from getting too awkward. “It's kind of weird that it has to be a girl—”

 

“—I _told_ you Harry,” Hermione cut in impatiently, “until you're married, you're not allowed to be alone with any unattached men. Since Ron and I aren't even engaged yet, he would qualify. This courtship isn't just a simple matter of dates, gifts, and what have you. It's interwoven with magic, and it shares many attributes with magical contracts. Like those, the punishments this courtship will mete out are harsh and _very_ unpredictable.”

 

Harry sighed heavily and nodded. She'd told him all this multiple times over the last fortnight, but Harry still didn't like it. He wasn't some fair maiden whose virtue was at risk, after all, it was just so _stupid._ However, he wasn't keen to test the repercussions for breaking any of the courtship rules, and reluctantly he scooped up the package and retired to his bedroom to change.

 

The ceremonial garb Harry was to wear for the Rite of Acceptance looked nothing like the robes he was used to. The shirt was white, with white ties instead of buttons trailing up the front to close securely at his throat, while the sleeves and high collar were adorned with silver twisting patterns that looked similar to sprigs of ivy.

 

The trousers were similarly styled, though without the silver patterns. They were white, and fastened at the waist with another tie in place of a button and zip. He was supposed to go barefoot (there was some sort of symbolism to it, but after listening to Hermione lecture him on the history of the courtship ritual for the last fourteen days, he'd begun to tune her out) though he couldn't remember why. He thanked his lucky stars that it was August at least—and not February.

 

“How's it look?” Harry asked as he stepped back out, tugging self-consciously at the sleeves, which were much shorter than what he was used to. He was also not used to wearing so much white all at once, and he felt almost as though he was walking around under a spotlight, even though it was only Hermione looking at him.

 

“You look fine, Harry,” Hermione said while she offered him a sad sort of smile. They both knew that once this was done, there was no turning back—he would be expected to marry his godfather. Not that he had much of a choice to begin with, thanks to the curse woven into his blood by his dear departed ancestors, but participating in the Rite carried a strange sense of finality to it that made Harry even more uneasy about the whole thing.

 

“When do I have to do this again?” he asked, standing awkwardly in the centre of his flat. He felt like one wrong move might stain the clothing, which were at present so white that they practically shone.

 

“It's ten now,” Hermione replied as she consulted her watch, “you _could_ do it now, but it may be better to do it at midnight, that's the most magically powerful time of night, after all.”

 

“The Witching Hour,” Harry said, and she nodded. “So two hours to kill...” Harry trailed off with a frustrated groan and raked his hands through his hair. “I wish you could come with me, I feel like I might be braver if I had someone to help me with this.”

 

“You _do_ have people helping you, Harry,” Hermione said, her voice laced with hurt, “but the magic at work here will read intentions, and it will likely perceive my presence as coercion, and I have no idea what it will do to you or me if we do that.”

 

“Yeah, I know,” Harry replied with a heavy sigh, “I was just thinking out loud.” He fell heavily onto the sofa, and flicked his wand once, summoning his game of muggle backgammon to him, in no mood for mouthy wizarding game pieces. “Fancy a game? I can't sit here for two hours just waiting.”

 

“Not Scrabble?” She asked innocently, and Harry snorted. When he'd bought it, he, Ron, and Hermione broke it in together, and it wasn't much of a surprise that she'd utterly slaughtered both of them.

 

“A bit of uneven odds when you're playing against someone who's swallowed a dictionary,” Harry replied dryly, and she giggled.

 

“Well, it's not my fault that you have the vocabulary of a nematode...” she said, smiling innocently as Harry began to unbox the game.

 

“My vocabulary is a little better than a worm's, thank you,” Harry replied with a snort, and she giggled again as she helped him set up the game.

 

 

“So, um,” Harry began an hour later, a red playing piece balanced between his fingers as he tried to think of how to best phrase the question. Hermione looked up, a glass of wine halfway to her mouth, the bottle itself having gradually inched away from the centre of the coffee table and closer to Hermione's side with every new game that they started.

 

“What?”

 

“How is, um,” Harry broke off as he felt himself go red, “...how is Sirius dealing with all this? I mean, you've seen him more lately than I have.”

 

“About as well as you,” Hermione replied, and sipped her wine before she continued. “He's really disturbed about the whole thing, but he's more upset for you than for himself, I think—”

 

“—yeah what's he got to complain about?” Harry groused, “he gets a young man for the rest of his life, meanwhile I get to marry someone who's practically—”

 

“—that's _not_ that I mean and you know it,” Hermione interrupted with a snap. “Sirius is _just_ as upset as you are, but he's trying to be mature about this, and make it easier on you. Harry, you're like a son to him, just as much as he's like a father to you. He just doesn't want to make it any more stressful and awkward than it already is, so he's trying to act like a grownup about it, which, let me tell you, is _really_ weird coming from Sirius.”

 

Harry fell silent; he had no idea what to say to that, and though it was obvious that Sirius would be just as distressed as he was, Harry still had a hard time completely believing it.

 

“Come on, Harry,” Hermione said, dragging him from his thoughts, “let's just...let's just get back to the game.”

 

“All right,” Harry replied, and pushed his anxieties surrounding the courtship to the back of his mind again as he made his move.

 

 

Four games later at twelve minuted to midnight, Harry headed outside and stopped just beyond the Anti-Apparition wards of his flat's building. His stomach was in knots, and he really, _really_ wanted to do anything but agree to marry his godfather, but what choice did he have, really? Harry's mantra of, _at least it's Sirius, he won't take advantage of the situation,_ repeated over and over in his mind as he stood there. Hermione had followed him out, and she offered him one last smile of reassurance before he took a breath to steady himself, and Disapparated.

 

Harry reappeared on the edge of Hogsmeade, as out-of-the-way as he could get without bouncing against Hogwarts' Anti-Apparition wards. He hoped that this would ensure that as few people as possible spotted him on his trek to the Courtship Tree.

 

It took Harry a moment to get his bearings, and he was momentarily distracted by the uncomfortable sensation of standing barefoot on cold cobblestone. He was in an area of Hogsmeade he hadn't visited before, and he stood before a line of cottages that faced the very edge of the Forbidden Forest. He could feel a twinge of jealousy settle in his stomach as he stared at the houses, their occupants warm and safe in their beds, not a care in the world. Harry shook his head to get rid of the intrusive thought, and he refocused his attention on the line of trees that served as the border of the forest, and began to look for the Courtship Tree, which he spotted almost at once.

 

It was a towering oak so thick around that Harry was certain his arms would not even reach halfway around it, and Harry felt his insides squirm uneasily as his gaze fell on the silver cord coiled around it. Harry approached it on unsteady legs, and drew his wand.

 

“ _Incarcerous rubre,_ ” Harry muttered with a short flick before he could rethink the action, and he watched a thin red rope snake from his wand tip and wind itself through Sirius's rope.

 

 

There was no going back now.

 

 

 

 

 

**20 th August, 2004**

 

The last week had been less stressful than Harry had expected it to be, but also significantly more lonely than Harry was used to.

 

With no proper job to speak of, Harry spent a lot of his time alternating between lounging about at home, and spending his afternoons on the sunlit terrace of his favourite café in Diagon Alley, a newer establishment called Greenleaf Café, while he drank his body weight in Turkish coffee and worked on his writing project.

 

He wasn't certain if he would ever attempt to publish it, but if nothing else it was a way to pass the time. In addition, the fact that he was working essentially on a set of really long essays thrilled Hermione to no end. It wasn't exactly academic, but it was close enough that Hermione was all too happy to encourage him to continue.

 

Normally, Harry would not work on them so frequently, but his usual routine was interrupted, once more, by the damn courtship.

 

 

“ _Hi Harry, I—where are you going?” Hermione asked as she stepped into his flat on the eighteenth, drawing off her rain jacket as she watched Harry pull on his trainers._

 

“ _What's it look like, Hermione?” Harry asked rhetorically, “I'm going to see Teddy. I haven't seen him in ages.” Harry's neutral expression darkened when Hermione's face fell. “What now?”_

 

“ _You can't see Teddy right now,” she said in a rush, as though hearing it quickly would somehow lessen the blow._

 

“ _Why the hell not? He's my godson. I_ want _to see him.”_

 

“ _But he's Sirius's cousin,” Hermione explained gently, “the courtship bars the Intended from meeting anyone from the Suitor's family at this point, because of the risk of them swaying the Intended's decision on whether or not to continue the suit. But...but you'll be able to see in in October at the Engagement Banquet.”_

 

After two days the memory still stung, and he hated not seeing Teddy. After the war, Harry had been determined to be a constant fixture in Teddy's life, and not seeing him—even if it was only for a couple of weeks—felt like a lifetime.

 

 

Thankfully, the day had arrived when he was due to receive the First Gift of the courtship, and his stress over what he might receive, paired with the strange feeling of guilt at being given a gift for absolutely no reason. Harry found himself entirely incapable of doing anything productive, and instead he spent the better part of the morning and early afternoon pacing in his sitting room, cradling cup after cup of tea in his hands and eating any junk food he could get his hands on.

 

 

Close to teatime, a soft tapping on the sitting room window drew Harry from his panicked thoughts, and he felt his insides twist with that all-too familiar feeling of unease as he recognized Sirius's ill-tempered tawny owl perched just outside.

 

Harry shuffled over to the window and opened the latch. The owl soared in with a large square package clutched in its talons. The owl, Archimedes, dropped the package on Harry's coffee table, then he flew back out at once without stopping. Harry shook his head at the owl's standoffish behaviour, and closed the window before he returned his attention to the parcel now resting innocently upon his coffee table.

 

It was entirely nondescript, almost cube-shaped, with a parchment envelope resting on top of the lot. Harry reached out reluctantly, pulled the envelope off the package, and slit it open. The letter inside was short, and the sight of Sirius's handwriting made Harry's stomach turn over. Pushing through his various panic-induced bodily reactions, he forced himself to read the letter in his hand.

 

 

_Harry,_

 

_In line with the traditions we need to follow, enclosed is the First Gift._

 

_The First Gift is supposed to be something that is considered useful, to show the you that I am able to meet your needs. I had Hermione help me decide on something, and I hope you enjoy it._

 

_Sirius_

 

 

Harry set aside the letter and turned to the package, pulling it towards him as the first tendrils of curiosity began to overlay his unease. He pulled open the side flaps as he carefully unwrapped it, and an amused chuckle escaped him when the brown paper fell away he saw the contents of the box.

 

The item on top was an elegant quill made from the feather of a gyrfalcon, with several bottles of special inks—grammar and spelling-checking ink, ink that adjusted messy handwriting, no-spill ink that only appeared on parchment, as well as half a dozen normal ink pots in a variety of colours.

 

Paired with it was a stack of acid-free parchment, its label guaranteeing that the ink would not fade over time, and included at the bottom of the box was a small book with tips on writing nonfiction.

 

Harry couldn't help but laugh a little as he looked over everything. Hermione was one of the few people who knew about his writing project—his memoirs, she called them—given that not long after the war she had been the one to suggest it in the first place as a way to get everything out of his system.

 

 

Harry was drawn from his musings by a soft knock on his door, and he set down the quill that he'd been examining before he stood up to answer it. He wasn't surprised in the least when he found Hermione standing on the other side of the door. He stepped aside to let her in.

 

“Did you get his gift?” She asked the moment Harry had shut the door, and he chuckled a little at her lack of preamble. Despite her attempt to act nonchalant, her curiosity was all but coming off her in waves.

 

“Yeah,” Harry replied with a short nod, “I just finished opening it actually.” He led her over to the sitting room and sat down on the sofa to show her what he'd been given.

 

“I only suggested to him what to get, I didn't pick it out for him but... _wow_ , Harry, Sirius has great taste,” Hermione said, her voice a little breathy as she picked up the quill he'd been handling not five seconds earlier and turned it in her hands.

 

“I feel like I should be getting him something in return, or...I dunno, send a thank you note or something,” Harry said, still feeling somewhat uncomfortable at the idea of receiving a gift for no reason.

 

“That's not the way that it's done, Harry,” she said simply as she set the quill down to pick up the book and began to flip through it, “you accepting the gift is gratitude enough. You're the Intended, you're not expected to reciprocate like that.”

 

“I know,” Harry replied while he cradled his chin in his hand, “it just...it feels weird. I'm not some fair damsel, or...or Victorian aristocrat whose only job is finding a husband...”

 

“I know, Harry,” Hermione said patiently, cutting across his words, “I know it's strange, and if I were in your position, I would feel uncomfortable about it too. But these rituals aren't equal, they're meant to show that you _can_ depend on your Suitor to take care of you, especially when at some point in the future you'll be more or less indisposed when you—”

 

“— _Hermione_ ,” Harry interrupted with a warning tone, and at once her mouth snapped shut. Neither of them needed to say it to know that she was referring to the fact that he was expected to bear Sirius's child at some point, which was just _too_ weird to even begin to contemplate. Hermione had offered more than once to give him information on how the procedure that he was expected to go through was done, but Harry was quite happy to live in ignorance for as long as he could.

 

Hermione cleared her throat nervously, and pressed on as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened, though her cheeks were still more than a little pink with embarrassment.

 

“I just mean...it at least shows that they're able and willing to take care of you when you need it, you know?” She asked, her voice had softened a little with uncertainty as she regarded Harry. “I know you have your toxic masculinity working against you, but, Harry, it's no bad thing for a man to be taken care of...or provided for.”

 

Harry frowned at her, uncertain what she meant by _toxic masculinity,_ but he decided that for the moment it wasn't important, and he reached forward to pick the quill back up. He twirled it between his fingers while he moved on to more relevant questions.

 

“So after this is the First Meeting thing, right?” he asked, his insides squirming uncomfortably as he spoke. Despite all of Hermione's reassurances, it still felt very _wrong_ to him.

 

“Yes,” Hermione replied while she smiled at him sympathetically. “It's nothing overly complicated, just a Luncheon designed for you and the Suitor to get to know one another better. It lasts three hours and you need to be seated with a chaperone each,” she rattled off at once, sounding, as ever, as though she'd swallowed a textbook on the subject.

 

“And we'll have _so_ much to talk about,” Harry said sarcastically, while Hermione frowned at him. He sighed heavily, and forced himself to answer properly, though he still had a burning urge to run for the hills and never return. “I pick you for my chaperone, obviously. Is there anything else I need to know?”

 

“I don't think so, I'll check with Ron though, and he can ask Molly, but from what I've read, you just sort of have to show up. Sirius is the one who's expected to organize it and pay for everything.” Hermione paused, her thumb and forefinger resting against her chin thoughtfully, “there's a few, um, restrictions, I guess is the best way to put it, on physical contact as well as conversation,” she said, and Harry felt himself relax a little. That should keep it from feeling even _more_ awkward, at least. “If I remember correctly, it's things like no heavy discussions like sex or babies or anything, and he's not allowed to physically touch you beyond simple brushes of the hand and things like that.”

 

Harry had no idea what to say to that; he couldn't even imagine discussing those things with Sirius under normal circumstances, so he wasn't worried that he'd be tempted to bring it up now. He felt slightly guilty at the reassurance that he wasn't allowed to be touched—not that he'd expect Sirius to take advantage of him in any capacity, but nevertheless, the reassurance that, for the moment, he didn't have to worry about that made him feel much better about the impending _date._

 

“A week, you said?” Harry asked, and Hermione nodded. “Great. Seven whole days to psych myself up to see Sirius for the first time since all this insanity started...”

 

“It'll be fine Harry,” Hermione said gently, “just wait and see.”

 

“Yeah, sure,” Harry muttered, wishing that he could believe it.

 

 

 

**27 th August, 2004**

 

Harry stood in his bedroom, stepping from foot to foot nervously while he regarded himself in his full-length mirror.

 

All things considered, he didn't look awful, which was much more a confusing thought than a reassuring one. Harry didn't want to look _too_ good and give Sirius the idea that he was all for this, but at the same time, he didn't want to look like he hadn't at least tried to pull himself together. This wasn't a death sentence after all, and like Hermione had told him at least a hundred times, it could have been a _lot_ worse.

 

The robes he'd chosen to wear were the same ones he'd worn in his fourth year; bottle green, almost black, with some adjustments so that they would fit properly again. Harry had applied liberal amounts of hair potion to his perpetually misbehaving locks, but already it was wearing off, and a few strands of hair were curling back to their normal, untidy state. Harry could feel his heart in his throat, his palms were clammy from nerves, and it was a small miracle that he wasn't hyperventilating.

 

_It'll be fine,_ Harry thought, though he didn't believe it, _everything will be fine._ No matter how many times he repeated the thought, it felt no more true to him, and instead he refocused his attention on going over his physical appearance with a critical eye. Once he was sure that he didn't look awful, he headed from his bedroom and into the sitting room to wait for his so-called _chaperone_.

 

Almost the same instant that Harry sat down on his sofa, his Floo flared to life and Hermione tumbled out of the fire grate. She stood up, a lilac clutch purse in one hand, while she wore a pretty cocktail dress in the same shade with matching heels. Her hair was pulled away from her face and cascaded down her back in a number of elaborate curls, and Harry felt his breath catch a little. He was caught somewhere between shock at how _good_ she looked, well beyond how she'd looked at the Yule Ball in their fourth year, and amazement at the fact that the Floo trip had not tousled her beautifully styled hair in the slightest.

 

“Wow Hermione,” Harry breathed, “you look...amazing.”

 

“Thanks, so do you,” Hermione replied with a warm smile, her face a little pink from the compliment, “very posh.” Harry took his turn to blush, and she reached for his hand. “Come on, we better go or we're going to be late.” Harry's heart rate tripled in an instant when he remembered why they were so dressed up in the middle of the afternoon, and after he nodded once. Hermione turned and led him out of his flat and down to the street.

 

“Think you could take me by Side-Along?” Harry asked the moment they'd reached the Apparition point, “I'm really nervous and I don't fancy splinching myself right now.” Hermione nodded without comment, and immediately tightened her grip on his hand before she spun on the spot.

 

 

They appeared on one of the newer side-streets along Diagon Alley, and they walked hand-in-hand up the street in silence. Harry's throat seemed to have sealed itself in his nervousness over this meeting, and he found that it was something of a miracle that he hadn't stopped breathing—or fainted.

 

The restaurant Sirius had chosen was posh—the kind that one couldn't get into without wearing dress robes. It was also discreet however, and Harry didn't feel like he was standing under a stage light as he walked in and stopped in front of the hostess, who appeared momentarily starstruck by Harry's sudden appearance.

 

“Um,” Harry coughed once to clear his throat when his voice escaped him as barely a hoarse whisper, “sorry, er...table reserved under Black?” He asked, his voice devolving into a nervous squeak when he spoke the surname.

 

“Of course, Mr Potter,” she said at once, “right this way.” She picked up two menus from the booth she'd been standing at, turned in a swirl of stylish black robes, and led them farther inside. She walked them through the dining area and into a back room, where a solitary booth had been set up. It still carried the ambience of the main area of the restaurant, but with a great deal more privacy. Harry felt himself relax a little.

 

Sirius was already there with his own chaperone—who turned out to be Andromeda. They were both dressed as smartly as Harry and Hermione were, with Sirius in fitted black and silver robes, and Andromeda in robes of a deep royal blue.

 

Hermione let go of Harry's hand the moment they'd stepped up to the table, and Hermione held up a hand to stop him from sitting down straightaway. They all waited in dead silence for the hostess to leave their private room before Hermione took a small step back and Sirius stood up. He offered Harry an apologetic look as he lifted his right arm, placed the ridge of his hand over his heart so that his palm was facing upward, and bowed to Harry. Harry felt his face flame, but he did not move a muscle while he felt a tendril of frustration at Hermione—she had failed to mention this bit.

 

Sirius straightened up, and with the same apologetic look in his eye he closed both of his hands over one of Harry's as he said, “I am deeply honoured that you have chosen to accept my suit, and I do hope that today's First Meeting will be the first of many meals I will share with you, Harry Potter.”

 

He rattled the words off as though he was reading from a script, and Harry assumed that it was some sort of formal custom, and nodded a little. That did not seem to be enough as Hermione elbowed him sharply in the ribs.

 

“Er, thank you,” Harry said, feeling his face go, if possible, even redder. Sirius smiled weakly and retracted his hands quickly before he led Harry to the table. Hermione sat next to Andromeda a few feet from them, far enough away that it gave them the illusion of a private meal, but close enough to put a stop to any 'inappropriate' behaviour.

 

“All right Harry?” Sirius asked softly once they were seated, and a bottle of red wine appeared in the centre of the table. Their wineglasses filled of their own accord, and Harry could see the liquid in the bottle drain away at the same time.

 

“I guess,” Harry mumbled as he picked up his own glass to have something to do with his hands, “I mean, this is just...I'm a little out of my depth.” Harry sipped his wine, and found that it was his favourite kind that he always had at home, and he wondered if Hermione had mentioned this to Sirius, or if it was a lucky coincidence. Despite the presence of his preferred vintage, it didn't stop Harry from feeling terribly uncomfortable. He knew Sirius was trying to make this as easy on him as possible, and it seemed unfair to not try and return the favour in any way he could. Because of this, he did his best to keep his complaints to a bare minimum, though that didn't stop Harry from feeling incredibly uneasy.

 

“I know, Harry,” Sirius said gently, his eyes telling Harry more than his words how guilty he felt about the entire situation. “I would never...” he trailed off and shook his head as he lifted his own wineglass and took a fortifying sip. “We have our ancestors to thank for this...mess.”

 

“I know,” Harry replied, his voice just barely above a mumble, while he stared into the contents of his glass. “I mean, don't get me wrong, I appreciate that it's you and not...um, Malfoy, or someone, but it's still a bit...” he trailed off and looked up, and Sirius offered him a weak smile of understanding.

 

“...strange.”

 

“Yeah,” Harry replied, his eyes flicking up to his godfather, and Sirius smiled weakly at him again.

 

 

Ever so slowly the meal progressed, but Harry found that no matter how hard they tried, they both seemed to be at a loss for words. Their previous relationship was utterly shattered, and flashes of what would be expected of him in the near future kept jumping into the forefront of Harry's mind. Harry tried a variety of methods in an effort to engage Sirius in conversation, from trying to pretend that Sirius was a stranger that we was meeting for the first time, to focusing solely on Sirius's physical appearance (Harry couldn't deny that Sirius looked _good_ for a man in his forties) but no matter what he did, he could not shake the mental reminder that _this was his godfather._

 

His godfather, whom he would be expected to have sex with.

 

His godfather, whom he was expected to bear a child of.

 

His godfather, whom he was expected to _marry._

 

Harry shook himself in an effort to dispel the morose thoughts. There was no use dwelling on it; like so many other moments in his life, this was just another thing outside his control that he would have to do whether he liked it or not. He prodded at his meal, some sort of fancy steak, but it tasted like ash in his mouth.

 

“Harry.” Sirius's guilt-ridden tone dragged Harry from his thoughts, and the warmth of the older man's hand brushing over his caused his head to snap up in alarm. They had hardly exchanged more than a few words since the meal had started, and aside from when Sirius had taken Harry's hand at the beginning of the _date_ , he had not touched Harry at all.

 

“Er, yeah?” He asked, wincing at how hoarse—how _scared_ he sounded.

 

“I know this isn't ideal, but we'll work it out, all right?” Sirius pulled his hand back, and offered him yet another weak smile. “I'll...things will be okay.”

 

Harry wished that he could believe him.

 

 

The meal was rounded off with a cloyingly sweet crème brûlée that Harry couldn't finish, and it was with great relief that they stood, and Sirius offered Harry another proper bow, which brought a cherry red flush to his cheeks.

 

He turned to offer Andromeda a quick goodbye while Hermione spoke softly to Sirius, and unfortunately, they were all too busy with their farewells to notice a fat black beetle scuttle silently from the room.

 

 


	3. Nostalgia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I know posting day is tomorrow, but I was too excited about this chapter so I caved and decided to post early. Whoops?

Chapter Three – Nostalgia

 

**3 rd September, 2004**

 

_COURTSHIP MYSTERY REVEALED!_

_HARRY POTTER TO WED GODFATHER SIRIUS BLACK_

 

_In a shocking turn of events, the ongoing courtship that has been on every witch and wizard's lips for the last fortnight has been revealed to be a match far more shocking than anyone could have expected. It would appear that our own Saviour of the Wizarding World, Harry Potter, has accepted the suit of a man twenty years his senior. In addition to the sizable age gap, the man in question is ex-Azkaban inmate and godfather to Harry Potter, Sirius Black._

 

_In the summer of 1992, Sirius Black, imprisoned on the murder charges of a dozen muggles and one wizard escaped Azkaban—the first person ever to manage such a thing—and went on the run. Black eluded capture for five years, and then following the war he was not only exonerated, but awarded an Order of Merlin, First Class, for his position in the Order of the Phoenix, and as a partial recompense for his twelve-year false imprisonment._

 

_Not all believe that Black was as innocent as we have all been told, nor did he act the part of an innocent man during his first year on the run. Theft, breaking and entering, child endangerment—these are but a few of the charges that never made it to trial, and it would not be too much of a stretch of the imagination to assume that gold likely exchanged hands in an effort to keep himself from returning to the famed prison. The House of Black, among other things, was well-known for being a family of Voldemort supporters as well as being incredibly wealthy. Sirius Black's departure from his family's twisted values was well-documented during the First Wizarding War (the most significant evidence being his sorting into Gryffindor), but how reformed is he, really?_

 

_Why Mr Potter has chosen to accept Mr Black's suit is stranger still. Following the war, seemed to have what appeared to be a normal, healthy, and platonic relationship. It was not unlike a familial father-son relationship according to those close to them, but in light of recent events, one has to wonder just how healthy their relationship truly was. How was Mr Potter, an impressionable survivor of war and so much loss so early in his life coerced into accepting a suit from a man that for all intents and purposes is his father? While it is not technically illegal, from a moral standpoint it is deeply troubling, and lends this reporter to the belief that Mr Black may not be the innocent, wrongly-accused man that we have all been led to believe that he is._

 

_“Black was always extremely irresponsible,” says an old schoolmate, who wished to remain anonymous. “He and Potter liked to think that they ran to school, and they were well-known for pulling all manner of pranks on their classmates, especially those in Slytherin House. Had it not been for their inclusion of Lupin in their little gang, who seemed to reign in those two when they went too far, I am certain that their behaviour would be even more extreme—even dangerous.”_

 

_If Sirius Black is such a loose cannon, so to speak, why would Mr Potter choose to accept a suit from the man? The most likely reason could be out of a perverse sense of loyalty. Black is, after all, the only true family Mr Potter has ever known, and it is entirely possible that he convinced Mr Potter that this was the only way to continue their relationship—as a married couple._

 

_Despite attempts to speak to Mr Potter's chaperone for the suit, Hermione Granger, on the topic of his impending nuptials, Miss Granger was unwilling to comment. One must hope that in the coming weeks of the courtship and all the demands it will put upon young Mr Potter, he will see the deeply misguided morals of his so-called godfather, and put an end to this 'relationship' before it is too late. There is still six weeks remaining, dear readers, and ample time for Mr Potter to back out. I do hope the rest of the wizarding world will join me in hoping that Mr Potter will come to his senses before it is too late._

 

_Rita Skeeter_

_Special Correspondent_

 

 

 

Harry looked from the paper, over the sea of unopened letters that littered his kitchen table, and to Hermione.

 

“Is murder always a crime?” he asked miserably, and tossed the paper on top of the mess, while Hermione laughed.

 

“You knew this was coming Harry,” Hermione replied with an apologetic smile, “it wasn't going to be kept quiet forever.”

 

“I know, but _why_ did it have to be Rita effing Skeeter who found out?” Harry groused as he glared at the table, “she made Sirius sound like...like...some sort of child molester or something. Has the world forgotten that I'm twenty-five, not fifteen?”

 

“You know it has less to do with your age and the fact that Sirius is...well...your godfather.” Hermione's voice dropped to a mumble. “It's honestly not that surprising that people would think that you've been pushed into this, sometimes relationships involving large age gaps can get a little...twisted.”

 

“Yeah, except Sirius isn't like that and you know it,” Harry muttered while he crossed his arms.

 

“I know, Harry,” she said quickly, “I just mean, that's probably what some people will think. Not us, just...some people.”

 

“I guess these letters are from well meaning... _Prophet_ readers?” Harry asked while he motioned to the pile of envelopes on the tabletop. Hermione smiled apologetically when he glanced up at her.

 

“Er, yeah. I went through them for you to check for curses and the like, but they're all just pretty nasty or misguided sympathy for your situation...except this one.” She pulled out a yellow parchment envelope from the mess and passed it to him, holding it gingerly as though it had been soaked in undiluted bubotuber pus. Nonplussed, Harry accepted the envelope and slit it open.

 

 

_Potter,_

 

_If you wanted to fuck a Black so badly, all you had to do was ask._

 

_D. L. Malfoy_

 

 

Harry let out a noise of disgust and crumpled up the short letter, then pitched it into the bin.

 

“Now I just feel dirty,” he said with a shudder, and Hermione giggled a little.

 

“I suppose it's safe to say he doesn't hate you as much as he used to,” she mused, but Harry did not find that exactly reassuring.

 

“The _last_ thing I need is that prat following me around like a lost ferret or something,” he grumbled, and Hermione laughed again.

 

“I doubt it'll come to that,” Hermione said while she smiled at him reassuringly. “Malfoy will know about this courtship ritual, I'm certain, and until you formally accept or reject Sirius's suit, he can't approach you like that.”

 

“Small comfort,” Harry muttered, and drew his wand to banish the letters and newspaper to the rubbish bin. The action wasn't nearly as relaxing as he had hoped, and flicked his wand again to ignite the letters. When they had all curled into ash, he felt _much_ better. “So, are we gonna do the 'ignore her and maybe she'll shut up' strategy, or do you have something more straightforward planned?” Hermione smirked.

 

“Well, do you remember at the end of fourth year how I threatened to not let her secret _slip_ if she stopped writing horrible things about people?” She asked, and Harry nodded. “ _Well_ , let's just say that Magical Law Enforcement received an anonymous tip this morning about a certain unregistered Animagi...Considering the invasion of privacy charges that could be put against her, it's very likely that she'll only be able to report on the life of an Azkaban Inmate for the next few years, at least.”

 

Harry snorted, and Hermione's smirk widened. “You're a little bit evil, you know that, Hermione?”

 

“Well I _did_ warn her...” she replied with a shrug, and this time Harry really did laugh out loud. Hermione joined in, and when they'd both sobered up a little, she pressed on to the next issue.

 

“I actually came over for another reason besides being the bearer of bad news,” Hermione continued, while Harry summoned a fresh pot of tea, and topped up Hermione's cup.

 

“Yeah? What's the other reason?” Harry asked as he picked up his own teacup and brought it to his mouth.

 

“Isn't it obvious?” she asked with an arched brow, and when Harry didn't respond she rolled her eyes. “Today you're supposed to get the second gift from Sirius, I want to see what it is. It's supposed to be something more personal this time, and I'm curious to see what he decided on, since he didn't ask for my help at all on this one.”

 

“If it's so personal, you didn't think I might want to get it when I'm alone?” Harry asked with an arched brow, “what if it's something naughty?”

 

“You and I both know he's not allowed to do, talk about, or allude to anything sexual for a while yet,” Hermione replied, her lips pressed into a thin line very reminiscent of their old Head of House. “I'm not going to look over your shoulder and _insist_ that you show me, but I thought you might want someone to share it with, that's all.”

 

Hermione's tone of voice had dropped down in volume, and she sounded rather hurt. Harry wasn't entirely certain what she was so upset about, but she'd helped him so much with this courtship thing, he knew that really, there were no boundaries between them anymore.

 

“I don't _not_ want to share whatever it is with you,” Harry amended, grimacing a little as he spoke, “I'm just...I don't know what to expect, y'know?”

 

“Afraid you're gonna cry?” She asked with a grin that was very close to Ron's. The sight of it brought a pang of longing to his chest; he hadn't seen his best mate in _ages_. Not for the first time, he found himself mentally cursing the stupid rules that this courtship demanded.

 

“Very funny,” Harry replied at last, “I'm not the crier—you are. Should I have a hanky handy for you, so they you don't cry all over...whatever it is?”

 

“Ha, ha,” she replied, though there was a strange smile on her face. Harry blinked in confusion, but she continued before he could ask. “It looks like you're getting more comfortable with the idea of this courtship at least.”

 

“Whatever gave you that idea?” He asked, and squirmed uncomfortably in his seat. As far as Harry was concerned, he was still caught between abject horror at the idea of what he would have to eventually _do_ with Sirius, and varied attempts at forcing himself to just accept it—it wasn't like there would be a way out, anyway. So far, he'd been entirely unsuccessful at making himself accept it.

 

“Well, you're not flinching every time it comes up anymore, so I'd call that progress.”

 

“Hooray for me,” Harry muttered sarcastically as he dropped his gaze to his teacup, and out of the corner of his eye he saw Hermione frown at him. He had a feeling that it was going to be a long day.

 

 

~*~

 

 

Hermione appeared determined to see her earlier sentiment through, and as evening began to set in, she still hadn't left. Harry didn't mind that Hermione was hanging around—not _really,_ but he had to admit that he was surprised that she hadn't gotten bored of waiting and headed home.

 

“Are you sure it's today, Hermione?” Harry asked as he stood from his armchair near the fire and stretched his arms high above his head. The motion caused his shoulders and elbows to crack loudly, and Harry bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing from the way Hermione winced at the sound.

 

“Yeah, I'm sure,” Hermione replied in an offhanded sort of way, “maybe Sirius forgot or something.” She shrugged and eased back on the sofa, looking somewhat disappointed.

 

“Well, since you're here, feel like some takeaway? I think I've still got some of those Floo Takeaway pamphlets around here somewhere—” Harry began as he turned towards the kitchen, but his words were cut off suddenly by a sharp _tap, tap, tap,_ against the sitting room window. He had a feeling that he knew exactly what it was, and was therefore not surprised when he turned around and saw Sirius's owl on the other side of it, sporting a thick, rectangular parcel.

 

Somewhat reluctantly, Harry stepped over to the window, opened the latch, and just like last time the owl flew in, dropped the package on the coffee table and swooped back out without so much as a backward glance.

 

“Charming owl,” Hermione observed with a giggle, and Harry snorted.

 

“I'll take his standoffish attitude over him trying to take a chunk out of my finger, so I'm not complaining,” Harry replied as he walked back to his armchair, and plopped down to face the wrapped parcel. He hesitated; this was supposed to be a bit more personal, after all, what could Sirius have sent?

 

“Well, what are you waiting for?” Hermione asked, “open it!”

 

Harry looked at her, his eyebrows raised, then turned back to the package, and started by detaching the envelope from the front of it, and slit it open. Inside, he found a short letter.

 

 

_Harry,_

 

_The Second Gift is supposed to be something more personal, something that speaks of the Suitor's feeling for their Intended._

 

_I know this situation is awkward for both of us, but I meant it in that first letter I sent you when I said that I wanted to make this good for you—to make you happy. I'm fairly certain that you will get much enjoyment from this gift, and I'm sorry that it took a little longer to get it to you, it took longer than I expected to put together._

 

_Sirius_

 

 

Feeling strangely warm, Harry set aside the letter (which Hermione promptly picked up) and moved on to the gift itself.

 

Despite the ease in which the owl carried it inside, Harry found it to be rather heavy. He pulled it into his lap, his curiosity piqued, and loosed the spellotape.

 

Harry tore the paper off to reveal a thick scrapbook bound with a thick black leather cover. It looked quite expensive, and he opened it, expecting photographs of his parents, but what he found instead caused him to gasp sharply in surprise.

 

Letters.

 

Short letters, long letters, letters with photographs or drawings affixed to the yellowed parchment—small windows into the souls of his long lost parents. Carefully, as though he was handling a priceless artifact, Harry began to leaf through the pages, stopping at random intervals to read some of the included letters.

 

 

_Pads,_

 

_It's OK—Mum didn't kill me over the Quidditch Pitch Incident. She was a bit peeved about the fact that ickle firsties can't try out for House teams anymore, but hey, that's no great loss if you're asking me!_

 

_You need to come over soon, none of us want you spending more time with your parents than you have to._

 

_I'll write soon,_

_Prongs_

 

 

 

_Sirius,_

 

_Would you please stop trying to set me up with that so-called best friend of yours? James is an obnoxious git, and I don't appreciate you 'conveniently' getting us alone together. I can find my own dates, thank you._

 

_Lily_

 

 

 

 

_Dear Mr Black,_

 

_You are hereby ordered to get your arse over to my parents' house pronto. LILY SAID YES. Wormtail and Moony are on their way and we need to celebrate properly, and we can only do that when the most brilliant wingman ever presents himself at the house. Also Mum has enough wrapped dinners set aside for you to feed you through the next thirty years, I'm sure. I swear, she's certain you're going to die of starvation living on your own._

 

_Prongs_

 

 

 

_Padfoot,_

 

_Please come over as soon as you get this and get your boyfriend out of here before I murder him. He's a worse mother hen than his own mother, and a little heartburn does not mean that there's something wrong with the baby. Five more minutes and I might actually kill him._

 

_Please, I'm begging you. Go on a pub crawl, go flying, something, I don't care. Just get him out of here._

 

_Lily_

 

 

 

As Harry looked through them, he paused on one in which his mother was tearing Sirius a new one for some sort of prank he and his father had apparently pulled on Snape, and rubbed his eyes roughly. Of all the things he'd expected, this had been lowest on the list. Harry had no idea that Sirius would have even kept them all. He had been rendered completely speechless, overwhelmed with emotion as he stared down at the yellowed, slightly warped parchment.

 

“Harry, can I see?”

 

Hermione's small, uncertain voice snapped him out of his dazed shock, and he looked up at her. He'd forgotten that she was even there.

 

“Oh, um, sure...” He reluctantly handed the album over, and her reaction was similar to his, and Harry saw tears spring to her eyes.

 

“Oh _Harry..._ ” she said softly, sniffling a little as she dabbed at her eyes with the sleeve of her jumper, and handed it back to him. He accepted it gladly, and his gaze dropped down to the leather cover, and brushed his fingers over it. This wasn't just a gift; it was a _treasure_.

 

“I...” Harry paused, but didn't look up. He could feel his eyes growing damp again. “I mean, I never expected something like this...it's like...a piece of them.”

 

“I know Harry,” she said gently, “it's...precious. It's so thoughtful.”

 

“Yeah,” Harry replied, his voice still a little hoarse as his fingers closed around the edge of the book. _Thank you, Sirius,_ Harry thought silently, and swallowed past the lump that had formed in his throat.

 

 

Harry and Hermione spent the next hour alternating between big bites of heartburn-inducing Mexican takeaway and reading the letters together. Some were funny, some were sad, and some were somewhere between annoyed and genuinely angry. Each and every one pulled at Harry's heart.

 

His parents; he'd seen photographs of them, he'd heard all about them, but here was genuine proof that they'd actually _lived._ They had had lives, they sat down and wrote these words, drew these little doodles (most of James's being highly detailed penises in bright orange ink), and Harry longed to sink into the aged parchment and talk to them. It both filled Harry with joy and an aching sense of longing.

 

 

After Hermione left, Harry brewed himself a cup of tea and continued to read over the letters, determined to absorb every printed word his parents had written.

 

 

_Padfoot,_

 

_So, Mum heard about our 'Let's feed Dr Filibuster's No-Heat Wet-Start Fireworks to the new Caretaker's cat and see what happens' experiment. I probably won't be able to sit on a broom properly for the next week (no remarks, you prat) so our plan to fly to Spinner's End and drop Dungbombs on Snivellus is out (though in retrospect this is probably a good thing, as Lily gets a little tetchy when I pester her oddball Slytherin bestie). Have any more ideas for good, harmless fun that might make my mum go prematurely grey?_

 

_Prongs_

 

 

 

_Padfoot,_

 

_Apparently making 'are you fucking Sirius' puns at one's marginally conservative parents is not the brilliant idea that I thought it was, so I can't double with you two and my precious, delightful girlfriend. For some reason when I explained to Lily why I couldn't go out, she wasn't impressed with the pun, either. I've no idea why, it makes you look like a stud when one says “are you fucking Sirius” nigh constantly._

 

_Maybe next time I guess I'll just avoid saying that in front of mum—dad made this weird sort of snort when I said it that makes me think that he was trying to not laugh._

 

_Anyway, give everyone big, wet, sloppy kisses from me until I can figure out how to get mum to let me go out again._

 

_Prongs_

 

 

The letter gave him pause, wondering what his dad had meant by, _you two._ Did he mean Sirius and Remus, or had Sirius been dating someone? The wording threw Harry off more than a little, and with a small shake of his head, he moved on to the next letter.

 

 

_Sirius,_

 

 _Please, please, please tell me that that picture James showed us last night is you in your_ own _pair of ladies' knickers that you bought on your own, and not the exact same pair of mine that mysteriously disappeared three months ago. I don't care about your weird panties kink, but for the love of all that is holy, buy your own, stop stealing mine._

 

_Love,_

_Lily_

 

 

_Padfoot,_

 

 _For a big mutt, you really do have a way with cats. Lily loved the kitten, and I don't think the thing has touched the floor all day—it's been sitting on her shoulder like a fluffy parrot or something. She named it Bricks—due to the fact that (according to her) it looks like it's run headlong into a brick wall._  
  
I don't want her hexing me again for teasing her about her impeccable pet-naming skills (remember when she told Hagrid to call that enormous, three-headed dog of his Fluffy _?) so if she's happy, then it's fine._

 

_Come visit soon, the wacky pregnancy hormones are actually a little bit hilarious—I don't think I've ever seen anyone cry to Babbity Rabbity before, but Lily positively bawled when I brought it home._

 

_Prongs_

 

 

As Harry approached the end of the album, he came upon a surprise. The last ten pages were not, as he had expected, more letters to Sirius from his mother or father, but to Sirius from a woman Harry had never known, and had never even heard spoken of before—his grandmother.

 

 

 

_Dear Sirius,_

 

_WAS IT YOUR BRILLIANT IDEA TO DRAG A BUCK ALL THE WAY BACK TO GRYFFINDOR TOWER LAST NIGHT?_

 

_I received the most charming owl from your Head of House this morning informing us that you, along with Remus and Peter, apparently dragged a fully grown deer back to you common room for some strange reason._

 

 _I really don't want to know, I don't understand_ why _you boys pull the stunts you pull, just don't do it again._

 

_Love,_

_Dorea_

 

 

 

_Dear Sirius,_

 

_Happy Christmas!_

 

_We're all missing you this morning, I hope you have enough food at that little flat of yours, if not please enjoy the enclosed meals. We're still expecting you for Christmas Dinner, so don't be late!_

 

_Love,_

_Dorea_

 

 

 

 

_Dear Sirius,_

 

_Why on earth did you and my darling, idiotic son decide to try and teach the giant squid sign language? If you wanted to drown yourselves, surely there are less roundabout ways of getting the job done._

 

_Be a dear and don't do it again._

 

_Love,_

_Dorea_

 

 

 

 

_Dear Sirius,_

 

_Congratulations on finishing Hogwarts! Charlus and I are so proud of you!_

 

_Please enjoy the enclosed cakes, I know that they're your favourite. Do remember to pop by for Sunday dinner, I believe James wants to invite at least half your year for the evening, but please try and talk him down to just you four—and my future daughter-in-law, of course._

 

_Love,_

_Dorea_

 

 

Harry fell asleep curled up on the sofa, his glasses askew and his cheek pressed against the fine script of his late grandmother's handwriting. His hands were clamped over the book like a child might hold on to a treasured teddy bear, and for the first time in weeks, Harry was at peace.

 

 

 

 

**6 th September, 2004**

 

 

Harry's joy over Sirius's gift lasted exactly three days before Hermione returned to his flat looking rather grim.

 

“We need to talk,” she said without preamble as she stepped out of his fireplace and brushed herself off. Harry swallowed nervously; all their talks recently had been about the courtship, and her expression was far from reassuring that whatever she needed to discuss with him was anywhere in the realm of _good_.

 

“Do come in,” Harry replied sarcastically, and she glared at him, which he ignored. “Tea?”

 

“I could do a glass of wine if you have some, actually,” she replied, and Harry stared at her in surprise. He checked the clock on his wall to be sure he had the time right, then shifted his gaze back to her.

 

“At ten o'clock in the morning?”

 

“It's five o'clock somewhere,” she replied, and Harry snorted.

 

“All right then,” he said, and wandered into his kitchen and pulled out a bottle of his preferred Australian red, and after uncorking it with a quick tap of his wand, he set it aside to breathe while he fished out a glass for her.

 

“So what's this all about?” Harry asked as she sat herself down at his kitchen table, and much to Harry's displeasure, her expression did not change.

 

Hermione didn't answer, but continued to look unnervingly grim as Harry poured her a glass of wine and set it in front of her, then made himself a tea. Only when he'd settled down across from Hermione did she begin to speak.

 

“I've been going over the customs for the Second Meeting, and um...there was a custom that Ron mentioned that I thought you should know about, so that it doesn't come as too much of a shock on Friday, and it seemed to be a bit of a departure from everything I've read about these rituals, so I hadn't expected it so soon,” she said nervously, very fast, then took a sip of her wine. Her attitude was making Harry even more anxious than usual when it came to details of this courtship; what could possibly be _so_ bad that she'd be acting this way?

 

“Spit it out Hermione,” Harry said at last, “you're making me nervous.”

 

“Oh, I'm sorry,” she said, her cheeks flushing a faint pink, “I mean, it's not _bad_ but...I thought it might come as a shock if it was sprung on you so I thought I should give you some forewarning, and it's pretty commonplace, so naturally I expect—”

 

“— _Hermione_ ,” Harry cut across her, and repeated his earlier statement in a deadpan tone of voice. “Spit. It. Out.”

 

Hermione's flush deepened to a scarlet that was nearly the same shade as the contents of her glass, and she took another sip before she finally explained herself.

 

“Well, the thing is...” she began, not meeting Harry's eye, “at the end of the Second Meeting, it's fairly commonplace for the Suitor and Intended to share their first kiss.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I know the name of Harry's grandmother was supposedly Euphemia or something ridiculous like that, but I like the idea of Harry being descended from the Blacks, however distantly, and considering that this is/was a popular headcanon, I didn't feel obligated to use the “canon” grandparents. 
> 
> Some of the events described in the letters from James & Dorea are ideas pulled from random headcanon or chat posts from Tumblr. I couldn't find them again when I was writing this, so I wasn't able to give credit to those people who originally came up with them. That said, if I happen to find them again I'll add the credit to this note. (or if you guys happen to know the OP for those headcanons, just let me know!)


	4. A Change In The Wind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: There are a couple French terms in this chapter, see the end notes for a glossary.

Chapter Four – A Change In the Wind

 

**8 th September, 2004**

 

“Remind me again why I need another pair of dress robes? Sirius knows what I look like, _and_ my other ones are still in good condition,” Harry grumbled as he shook off the aftereffects of the Side-Along Apparition. Hermione glared at him, and saw right through his feeble excuse at his attempt to avoid leaving the house.

 

Since Rita had published her charming article, Harry (and Sirius, according to Hermione) had been flooded with letters from well-meaning 'fans' pleading with him to end the courtship, or wedding proposals from people Harry had never even heard of in a bid for Harry to choose them over Sirius. It had been beyond exhausting, and Harry had avoided going out in public ever since, given that the few times that he had, he was swarmed by people the moment that they noticed him. As a result, Hermione stood with Harry on that rainy Wednesday afternoon outside The Leaky Cauldron, with his features transfigured just enough that people passed him by without even a second glance.

 

“Because everyone has more than one pair of dress robes Harry,” Hermione replied with an impatient huff as she steered him into the pub. “You and Ron, I swear, are you afraid you'll get hives if you go into a robes shop? Come on.”

 

Harry grunted a little as she forcibly dragged him forward, and he staggered along behind her as she led him to the entrance to Diagon Alley. Harry grimaced, but finally fell into step with her, if nothing else to keep her from tugging him around like a ragdoll. He didn't want to look good for Sirius—not like this. After Hermione's little announcement that Harry was expected to kiss Sirius—far sooner than he had expected—he had been thrown back to a state of mind similar to how he'd felt when this whole mess had started. That is to say, something close to blind panic.

 

“This is so stupid,” Hermione hissed as they walked, “do you really need to disguise yourself to go to _Diagon Alley_? Surely you're overreacting...just a bit?”

 

“Don't be so sure,” Harry muttered, “look to your left.”

 

Hermione turned, and standing off to one side talking with a squat man that Harry recognized as a _Prophet_ photographer, his beady eyes roving over the crowd intently. Harry saw Hermione's hand tense in the pocket of her robes where Harry knew her wand was hidden, and swallowed his reluctance in being here at all in favour of keeping Hermione out of Azkaban, and quickly steered her into Madam Malkin's.

 

“Good afternoon my dears,” Madam Malkin herself greeted the moment they crossed the threshold into the shop. “What are we looking for today?”

 

“H—” Harry elbowed Hermione sharply to shut her up, and after shooting him a glare, she tried again. “My, er, _friend_ needs some new dress robes,” she said, and the elderly woman's eyes shifted from Hermione to Harry.

 

“All right dear, come along, I believe I have a space for you. Do you have any preference to cut, style, or colour?” She asked while she ushered him towards the back of the shop, and Harry stared at her as though she had suddenly begun to speak Urdu.

 

“He looks best in dark colours, and something tight across the chest—but not constrictive, mind you—would look best,” Hermione offered while she followed them. “Black and green are his go-to colours, but a deep blue would not go amiss, either.”

 

“Hmm...” Madam Malkin hummed while she charmed a measuring tape to take his measurements, then both she and Hermione walked away towards a massive stack of fabric, talking softly with one another.

 

So began three hours of torture.

 

Harry had never pegged Hermione as particularly effeminate, given that most of her friends were men and she was never one to get overly dressed up for no reason, but like with everything else in the universe, she seemed to know _everything_ about fashion. She debated colour schemes and patterns with the older woman, she was incredibly particular about showing his body off—which made Harry _very_ uncomfortable—and she nitpicked every single tiny detail on Harry's behalf. While part of him was grateful that Hermione was there, given that he knew nothing about this stuff, another, stronger part of him just wanted it to be _over._

 

 

Harry walked out of the shop at the end of it with his new robes tucked under one arm. While Hermione looked utterly unaffected by their afternoon activities, Harry felt positively knackered.

 

“ _Never_ make me do that again, Hermione,” Harry muttered, and she rolled her eyes.

 

“Don't be such a drama queen,” she replied impatiently, “it wasn't _that_ bad.”

 

“Oh yes, it was,” he replied, and Hermione shook her head a little. She gave up on the argument, and they fell into comfortable silence. Hermione bid him goodbye at the Apparition point just outside The Leaky Cauldron, and Harry Apparated home.

 

 

The moment he stepped inside Harry tossed aside the package, all but threw himself into his favourite armchair, and summoned his bottle of scotch and a glass. It wasn't his usual drink of choice, but tonight he felt as though he needed something a little stronger to unwind with.

 

Harry swirled the contents of his glass and stared into the extinguished fire grate. _In two days I have to_ kiss _Sirius,_ he thought, and took a sip of the drink. The idea didn't exactly disgust him, but it didn't fill him with warm butterflies, either. It had only been a scant few weeks since this whole thing had started, after all, and once more Harry felt cornered by the expected intimacy with a man who was practically his father. It just felt so _wrong_.

 

He tilted his head back against the faux suede upholstery, and groaned softly. Part of him almost wished that he could erase Sirius's relation to him from his memory, if nothing else to make this whole thing a little easier to deal with.

 

As Harry sat there, he tried to picture kissing Sirius, but he simply couldn't manage it. It was too strange, too outlandish to even imagine. Though he dreaded the moment he had to kiss Sirius arriving, at the same time the waiting was driving him mad. Harry almost wished that Hermione hadn't told him, because at least then he wouldn't be spending half his time fretting over it.

 

Harry drained his glass; it was going to be a long two days.

 

 

 

**10 th September, 2004**

 

Harry stood in front of his full-body mirror, looking over himself with an uncertain grimace. He hadn't paid as much attention in the robes shop as he probably should have, and now he was paying for that mistake.

 

He stood there dressed in the robes Hermione had picked out for him, and while he had to concede that he looked good, he was a little concerned at the fact that he looked almost _too_ good. He didn't want to give Sirius the wrong idea that he was actually _approving_ of this courtship thing by dressing up for the occasion.

 

The robes were black with red lining, and the cuffs had been sewn with golden thread, lending the design to his former house affiliation, without it being overt and tacky. Overall they were fitted, though they flared out slightly at the wrist. The high collar and long trail of buttons down his front reminded Harry of Snape's robes back when he had been nothing more than his bad-tempered Potions professor, and he wasn't certain how he felt about that.

 

Harry wasn't given very long to dwell on this however, as at that same moment his Floo flared to life, and Hermione tumbled out of his fireplace. As she stood up and brushed herself off, Harry took in the sight of what she was wearing, and found himself caught between irritation and amusement.

 

“You bitch,” he said with a short laugh and Hermione's gaze met his with confusion. Harry put on a high false tone as he mimicked her words from two days earlier, “ _everyone has more than one pair of dress robes Harry, you can't wear the same outfit at your next meeting..._ ”

 

“Oh shut up Harry,” she said with a giggle, and used her wand to get rid of the last of the ash that clung to her dress—the same one she'd worn at his first meeting with Sirius. “This courtship isn't about me, I can get away with wearing the same thing twice. You can't, so suck it up.”

 

“So where are we going tonight?” Harry asked to change the subject, while his mouth twitched into a half smile at her words. It was six-thirty according to his watch, and they were scheduled to meet Andromeda and Sirius at seven. Harry didn't know where—he'd been given a set of Apparition coordinates, but no hint to where they were actually going. He knew it was a dinner, but beyond that Harry was completely at sea.

 

“No idea,” she replied, and sauntered over to the mirror Harry had been using to straighten out her dress and fix her hair, while Harry stepped out of the way to let her go to it. “The Second Meeting is supposed to be a little more formal, so it's probably going to be some sort of high-end restaurant or something. I've read of some people taking their Intended abroad for a night, but I don't think Sirius is _that_ extravagant.”

 

“And you and Andromeda will still be there?” Harry asked, but he felt his stomach turn over when Hermione didn't answer straightaway. “Hermione?”

 

“We'll still be there,” Hermione replied, and she went a little pink as she continued, “but at this stage things are intended to progress a little, so you and Sirius are given a little more privacy. You're still barred from discussing anything super intimate, but it's basically a second date, and these things do...progress.” Her voice dropped to a mumble, and Harry shifted from foot to foot uneasily.

 

“But I don't _want_ things to progress,” Harry grumbled, “hell, I don't want this at _all_.”

 

“I know, Harry,” Hermione replied sadly, while she turned from her reflection to look at him. Harry crossed his arms and leant against the wall, glaring miserably at the hardwood floor. “But...we're all doing the best we can. It's a difficult and awkward situation for Sirius too, I hope you realize that.”

 

“I know,” he muttered, but still didn't look up. “I'm not trying to make this harder, it's just...” Harry trailed off and shook his head; he didn't know _what_ it was. He checked his watch again, and saw that almost twenty minutes had passed since Hermione's arrival, and he reluctantly pushed himself off the wall. “We better get going, it's ten to.”

 

Hermione nodded, they joined hands as they walked from his flat, down the stairs, and to the nearest Apparition point. Harry withdrew the small slip of parchment from his pocket to check the location one more time, and with one last deep breath to steady himself, he closed his eyes and spun on the spot, dragging Hermione with him.

 

The pair reappeared instantly on the steps of a restaurant called _Verre Doré_ and Harry found himself momentarily stunned by the glamour of the place. It was as though they'd suddenly transported themselves to the heart of Paris, and the haute couture of the place was a little intimidating. Hermione seemed to feel it too as they ascended the marble steps into the building, and instantly a tall, thin man in a tailored suit Apparated right in front of them, and the pair jumped a little in surprise.

 

“Welcome to _Verre Doré, Monsieur et Madamoiselle,_ my name is Michel Cuillère, and I will be you 'ost for the evening. 'Ow may I be of seirvece?” he said as he bowed to both Harry and Hermione in turn, and they exchanged a bewildered look at the formality of such a greeting.

 

“Er, we have a reservation under Black?” Harry said, wincing at how uncouth he sounded, at least compared to this man. At his words, a thin leather-bound book materialized in the air before the host, and he regarded it once before it vanished again.

 

“Monsieur Potteur, Madamoiselle Grangeur, _suivez-moi,_ ” he said, turning on his heel smoothly to lead them away from the entryway. Harry didn't immediately move, and Hermione gave his hand a sharp tug, and he stumbled after her a little before he righted himself and followed the host through the restaurant. As they went, more than one head swivelled in their direction, and Harry felt his face burn a little as the hissing whispers began to follow their progression through the restaurant.

 

The host led them to a private parlour where two round tables covered in white linens had been set up about six feet apart. Andromeda and Sirius were already there talking quietly with one another, and the sight of the older man made Harry's stomach flip-flop nervously when he remembered what Hermione had told him a few days earlier. He did his best to appear calm and collected, but when the pair looked up at them, he knew by the look of concern in Sirius's eyes that he didn't manage it very well.

 

The host bowed his way out, and Sirius stood stiffly, and Andromeda followed suit. Like last time, they looked every part the aristocrat, and Harry felt like some sort of street urchin by comparison. Sirius's hair was loose, with the long strands towards the front pulled away from his face with a thin black tie, and he was dressed in fitted dress robes of black velvet. Andromeda was dressed just as elegantly, her robes a deep cranberry colour, and her hair was piled high on her head and woven with strings of pearls.

 

Both Andromeda and Hermione stepped back from their charges, and Harry suddenly felt incredibly vulnerable, and swallowed thickly as Sirius closed the distance between them in one stride. He bowed once, then took Harry's hand in his and brushed his lips lightly over the back of his knuckles. Harry felt himself go very red at the contact, then Sirius straightened up, his gaze as apologetic as it had been at their first meeting, and placed a hand at the small of Harry's back and led him to their table.

 

Harry's sensation of distinct strangeness became more pronounced when Sirius pulled out his chair for him, and only when Sirius had taken his seat across from Harry did Hermione and Andromeda sit down.

 

“This is...posh,” Harry remarked awkwardly, and Sirius chuckled a little.

 

“That's putting it mildly,” he replied while he drew his wand. He tapped the table twice, and a spread of red wine, cheese, and a fresh French baguette materialized on the table between them. Like in the first restaurant, Harry felt completely out of his depth, while Sirius looked completely at home, as though he'd eaten at such a place hundreds of times.

 

“Er, I want to thank you,” Harry said awkwardly as his wineglass filled on its own, and he picked it up for something to do with his hands. Sirius looked up, a question in his eyes, and Harry felt his face grow uncomfortably warm. “For the album, I mean. I—I mean, I've heard all about my mum and dad from you and—everyone,” Harry broke off with a minor wince. Even after so long, thinking of Remus was painful. The hurt in Sirius's eyes told Harry that he, too, was likely thinking of his lost friend, and Harry quickly pushed forward to keep from dwelling on it for too long. “I mean, I know all about them, but I never felt like I _knew_ them, you know? I just—thank you.”

 

“You're welcome, Harry,” Sirius replied with a faint smile and picked up his own wineglass. “I thought you might like it.”

 

“I did, thank you,” Harry felt himself flush a little, realizing too late that he was repeating himself, but Sirius merely smiled again as he reached for the bread. He split it open, and they began to eat.

 

It amazed Harry how much more relaxed he felt than he had at their first meeting—he had yet to bring himself to refer to it as a 'date', even though that was what it was—it wasn't exactly comfortable, but certainly less awkward. Harry wondered if it had something to do with the steady application of expensive wine in front of him, but either way it was a relief—at least until the menus for their main course appeared upon their empty plates, and Harry stared incredulously at it, for it was entirely in French.

 

“We're in the heart of London and they couldn't be bothered to write the menu in English?” Harry grumbled, and Sirius smirked a little.

 

“What, you don't speak French?”

 

“I was a bit busy being hunted down by Voldemort to pick up a second language,” Harry replied dryly, and Sirius chuckled a bit.

 

“Fair enough. Here,” he leant in to look at the menu with Harry, and Harry felt his stomach somersault again at the close proximity of the older man. Harry knew that it was something that he had to learn to get used to, but it didn't make it feel any less strange. Slowly, Sirius went through the menu with Harry, and it took a great deal of self control to focus on the menu and not the man, who spoke smoothly in a perfect French accent, something Harry had never expected, given what he knew of his godfather.

 

Harry chose something called, _li_ _è_ _vre en saugrenée_ , and Sirius, _boeuf bourguignon._ As far as fancy French food went, it seemed a bit like high end jugged hare and beef stew to him.

 

“I didn't know you spoke French,” Harry said conversationally as they ate, and Sirius smiled faintly.

 

“My dear mother was, among other things, obsessed with producing two perfect, pureblooded, aristocratic heirs to the Black line,” Sirius said with a cold edge to his words. Harry grimaced at the expression he saw there, and began to regret even asking. “Piano, language lessons, etiquette...it was maddening.” Sirius shook his head and stabbed sullenly at a piece of beef on his plate.

 

“Um, sorry,” Harry said, wincing a little at the awkward tone to his voice. Sirius looked back up, question in his eyes, and Harry quickly elaborated, “for bringing it up, I mean. I know you don't—”

 

“—You don't need to apologize, Harry,” Sirius interrupted, his expression softening a little. “We're getting to know each other in a whole new way, and you don't need to be shy about asking me about my delightfully screwed-up childhood. If there was something I wasn't keen to discuss, I'd tell you so, all right?”

 

“Yeah, all right,” Harry replied, and Sirius offered him a small smile. For the first time that day, Harry's returning smile didn't feel at all forced.

 

The meal progressed, and slowly the pair fell into easy conversation. Harry was marvelled at how easy it was to fall back into safe subjects like Quidditch, the latest Ministry scandal, and the latest goings-on at Hogwarts.

 

The familiar topics helped Harry to forget what was coming, but over a shared portion of _mille-feuille_ and sweet apple ice wine(which surprisingly was Canadian and not French, according to the label), the thought once more invaded Harry's senses, and he struggled to keep his face neutral as Sirius conversationally told Harry about finally taking his motorbike back from Hagrid, and the work he was doing on it. Thankfully, Sirius was so caught up in his monologue that he didn't seem to notice Harry's resurgence of panic.

 

Harry drew out the dessert and after-dinner coffee for as long as he could, and Sirius seemed to be doing the same. He grasped at any topic that crossed his mind as he talked at Harry, rather than with him, which dissolved into a nervous babble as the dinner wound down. If nothing else, Harry was relieved that Sirius seemed to be as anxious about this as he was.

 

 

Even with all their stalling, the moment had come regardless of their twin efforts.

 

Harry could feel his heart beating so hard and fast in his chest that it came as something of a shock that he wasn't visibly vibrating because of it. Sirius stood slowly, every movement expressed his clear reluctance for what was about to transpire. Harry followed his lead, Hermione and Andromeda followed suit, but they stayed back as Sirius circled the table and stopped before Harry.

 

At such a close proximity, Harry could smell the wine on Sirius's breath, the sharp tang of his aftershave, and the heady, masculine scent that was simply _Sirius._ His eyes, like molten silver in the low light, carried a silent apology in them, and Harry knew that it was not just for what was about to transpire, but for the whole mess of this courtship. Harry knew it wasn't his fault, and he opened his mouth to say something, _anything_ to reassure him, but his voice refused to work properly. Instead, he nodded his head a little and offered Sirius a small smile, and the older man seemed to understand the sentiment.

 

Sirius reached for Harry, and brushed his fingers across his forehead to push the fringe of messy hair out of his eyes. Harry's breath caught, and slowly Sirius's hand dropped to cup his cheek, and the rough, callused fingerpads tickled Harry's clean-shaven skin, but not unpleasantly. Sirius's opposite hand dropped to Harry's hip, and he very gently coaxed Harry forward. An involuntary gasp escaped him as they pressed chest-to-chest, and Sirius regarded Harry one last time with that same look of apology. Harry held his breath as he nodded, giving Sirius leave to continue, and the older man began to lean in.

 

Practised lips ghosted over Harry's inexperienced ones tentatively. It was so light that Harry wasn't certain it counted as a real kiss, as it felt more like Sirius was testing the waters before jumping in. The thought had barely finished crossing his mind before Sirius moved to kiss him properly.

 

His lips moulded to Harry's, the hand at his cheek stroked the skin lightly; reassuringly. Harry reached up tentatively as he returned the kiss while his fingers twisted in the front of Sirius's robes, and he felt Sirius start, clearly surprised by Harry's actions. The hand at his hip moved to the small of his back and Sirius held Harry in a gentle embrace, drawing out the kiss for a moment longer before he finally pulled back.

 

Harry knew his face was likely beet-red, and the couple stood staring at each other in quiet shock. Harry was uncertain about Sirius, but Harry found himself shocked not at how distasteful the kiss was, but rather, how much he _liked_ it.

 

“I—er—” Harry tried to break the silence, and his awkward stammer was met with a soft chuckle. Sirius was still holding him close, and he leant in to kiss Harry again, though it was much more brief and chaste than the first one had been.

 

“That was considerably better than I had been expecting,” Sirius murmured, and Harry felt himself go red again, uncertain whether the comment was complimentary or not.

 

“Er...thanks, I think?” Harry raised an eyebrow, and Sirius laughed softly.

 

“I didn't mean it that way, I just meant...” he trailed off, and his face tinted a faint pink of embarrassment, and he shook his head. “Never mind.” With clear reluctance—though a different kind of reluctance—he let Harry go, and Harry immediately stepped back from Sirius. He felt a little weak-kneed, as though he'd been hit with a particularly powerful jelly-legs jinx. If nothing else, the man could certainly kiss like the devil. Sirius caught one of Harry's hands in both of his before he got very far, and pressed a kiss to the back of it.

 

Without another word, he dropped the appendage, moved to join Andromeda, and the pair swept from the restaurant. Harry watched them go, his head spinning as he tried to work out exactly what he was feeling.

 

Harry realized quite suddenly that he'd liked the kiss— _more_ than liked it.

 

Part of his mind balked at this. He didn't _want_ to like it.

 

...But he did.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I am more or less bilingual, so I'm fairly certain that I didn't fuck up on the grammar here, but if any French-speakers notice any mistakes, please feel free to point them out so that I can fix them :) (I'm from Quebec, so our French is a little wonky compared to Parisian French to begin with, haha) 
> 
> Glossary: Verre Doré = Golden Goblet Madamoiselle = Miss Suivez-moi = follow me


	5. The Next Stage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I'm moving up to twice-weekly postings, mostly because I'm impatient and I have so much of this work done it seems kind of pointless to keep you guys waiting for no reason. Please enjoy today's update, the next one will be on Thursday!

Chapter Five – The Next Stage

 

 

**12 th September, 2004**

 

Harry was stretched out on his bed, staring into space when Hermione let herself into his flat by way of his Floo connection.

 

“Harry!” she called, and Harry listened to her tramp from the sitting room to his bedroom, but he didn't shift his gaze from the ceiling.

 

 

In the two days following his kiss with Sirius, his horror and disgust at the whole courtship thing had shifted slightly. Confusion had bled into the rotation of emotions he'd been feeling for the last month and a half, in particular because he liked Sirius's kiss _much_ more than he thought he would. He didn't _want_ to like it, and Harry felt utterly disgusted with himself that the memory of it brought such a warm flush to his cheeks.

 

Harry had spent the majority of his time since then lazing around his flat and not doing much of anything, and eating an endless stream of junk food and drinking almost nothing but firewhisky while he tried to wrap his mind around what had happened. _Did_ the kiss really change his feelings towards Sirius, his godfather? Or did it simply add another level to their already complicated relationship?

 

In the end, it hadn't—not really. It had indeed added a new facet to their relationship, but it hadn't changed the fact that Harry still saw Sirius as his godfather, and not as his future husband.

 

“Have you moved at all since the last time I saw you?” Hermione asked, and Harry finally looked up to see her, arms crossed as she regarded at him, and her shoulder braced against the bedroom door's frame.

 

“Does going to the toilet count?” He asked, and she snorted.

 

“Come on,” she said as she stepped forward and forced him up and off his bed. “Let's get some real food into you while we talk, I wanna go over the next stage of the courtship with you.”

 

“Hooray,” he muttered dully as he grabbed his glasses off the nightstand and followed her out to his sitting room, “because nothing thrills me more than discussing this damn courtship...”

 

“Yeah, well, you can stumble in blind if you want to,” Hermione snapped, “I don't _have_ to help you, you know.”

 

Harry grimaced at the hurt in her tone as he plopped into his favourite armchair.

 

“I'm sorry,” he muttered, “it's just been...confusing, since the, um, second meeting.” Harry felt an embarrassed flush creep up his neck, unable to form the words, _since we kissed_.

 

“At least the paparazzi didn't manage to snap a photo of the...dinner, that's something,” she replied conversationally, and Harry snorted a little.

 

“Yeah, sure.”

 

“Harry, look,” Hermione said, and the strong emotion in her tone forced Harry's gaze up from his lap to look at her. “I know it's not an ideal situation, but can you please stop this wallowing in self-pity routine? I'm trying to help you, but I can't do that if you eat yourself into some sort of food coma.”

 

“I'm sorry,” Harry said at once, and raked his fingers through his hair as he frowned guiltily, “it's just been...I dunno...”

 

“It's complicated, but is it so bad if you start, erm, seeing Sirius in a different light?” She asked, her face flushing an attractive scarlet, “I just mean, considering what you'll need to do to placate the bloodline magic at work here, wouldn't that make things easier, not harder?”

 

“It doesn't change the fact that he's my sodding _godfather_ , Hermione,” Harry replied stiffly, “and the fact that he can kiss like...like...it just makes things confusing as hell, not any easier.”

 

Hermione had nothing to say to that, and after she offered him a small, sad smile, she headed into the kitchen for his takeaway menus.

 

 

Over slices of olive pizza and bottles of butterbeer, Hermione seemed reluctant to bring their conversation back to the real reason she'd stopped by, and with a heavy sigh, Harry grudgingly spoke up.

 

“So what's this next stage in the courtship thing?” He asked, then took a sip of his drink. Hermione frowned a little, and took a bite of her pizza to stave off answering straightaway.

 

“After you receive the third gift on the seventeenth, you're expected to meet with Sirius four times over the course of a fortnight,” Hermione began, though she seemed unable to meet his eyes. “They're more like proper dates and less formal, like walks on the beach or an afternoon at a park, things like that.”

 

“Okay, um, that's not awful—” Harry began, but she cut him off before he could get further.

 

“—Harry, at this stage they're a little more...well...intimate.”

 

Both of them went red at that.

 

“H-how d'you mean _intimate_? I thought he wasn't supposed to do anything like that yet,” Harry said, his voice shaking a little towards the end of his statement.

 

“Not like how you're thinking Harry,” she said meekly, clearly just as embarrassed as he was by discussing this. “Like...hand-holding, exchanging kisses, that sort of thing. He's not allowed to be overly handsy or inappropriate, and there's still restrictions about what you're allowed to discuss. Most of that—er, _stuff_ is discussed after the engagement is made official, and that's not for another four weeks.”

 

Harry frowned; though Hermione had taken on an _it's not so bad_ tone of voice as she explained it to him, he couldn't help but feel exceptionally daunted at the prospect of going on proper _dates_ with his godfather. He knew Sirius well enough to know that he wouldn't try anything funny, but it still felt beyond wrong.

 

“But...you and Andromeda will still be there, right?” Harry asked uncertainly, and she nodded at once.

 

“Until you're married, we need to accompany you two on all your outings and meetings together,” she confirmed. “It's the rules of the courtship, even if we wanted to leave you two alone, we wouldn't be allowed to.”

 

“That's not what I meant,” Harry replied quickly, “I just...Like, I know Sirius, but in some ways I feel like I don't know him at all, and you and Andromeda being there...it makes it a little easier to deal with.”

 

“Have more faith in Sirius, Harry,” she said softly, almost sadly, “he's trying to make this easy on you, and you struggling so hard against it is pretty demoralizing for him.”

 

“I know,” Harry mumbled as he dropped his gaze to the cold pizza in his hands. “It still _feels_ wrong, though.”

 

 

 

**17 th September, 2004**

 

Despite Hermione's 'pep talk', Harry still felt incredibly nervous at the prospect at the impending 'dates' he was expected to share with Sirius.

 

It had consumed his thoughts so thoroughly that he'd entirely forgotten that he was to receive another gift from Sirius first. It was late that rainy afternoon when Harry was startled out of his anxious thoughts by a sharp tapping on his window.

 

Harry cursed as he spilled firewhisky down his front, and cleaned himself up hastily as he stood to let the owl in, it sporting another large package in its talons.

 

Just like last time, the moment Harry unlatched the window Sirius's owl swept in, dropped the package on his kitchen table, and flew off without so much as a backward glance.

 

The package was very different compared the last two, at least in shape. The first and second had been thick and rectangular, whereas this one was much more narrow, though Harry had no idea what to expect as he stepped forward, plucked off the envelope attached to the front of it, and moved to slit it open, but was stopped short by a quick note scrawled on the back of it.

 

_Open the gift first._

 

Confused and curious, Harry set down the envelope and shifted his attention to the gift, and carefully unwrapped it. It was much heavier then the first two, but the moment he'd touched it, Harry knew it had to be something magical, given the calming tingle that brushed his fingertips as he handled the gift.

 

Harry ripped away the paper to find...a flower.

 

He had done well enough in Herbology to know that it was an orchid of some kind, its petals a soft blue with flecks of lavender sealed in a glass case. The bottom of the case was filled with about two inches of light brown pebbles, then a thick layer of soil over top of it. The flower was swaying slightly in a nonexistent breeze, and Harry stared at it bemusedly, uncertain why Sirius would send Harry such a thing. The first two gifts had made perfect sense to him, but this one...

 

Suddenly, Harry remembered the letter.

 

He picked it up and slit it open, hoping that the letter carried some sort of explanation.

 

_Harry,_

 

_For the third gift, I am supposed to show you that I am capable of caring for you, and any children we may have._ (Harry winced at this, but forced himself to keep reading) _This is called a Serenity Orchid. It is a very delicate plant, and highly sensitive to air temperature, soil acidity, etc. The case it is in is called a BioCase, and will do all the work of taking care of the flower for you._

 

_Serenity Orchids are highly magical, and they're used in a lot of sedative potions, but it's also supposed to grant peace of mind to its owner when properly cared for. It is my hope that this will help to calm some of your anxieties regarding this courtship—as I've said over a dozen times, I'm doing all I can to make this easy on you._

 

_Sirius_

 

 

Harry set down the letter and looked at the plant again. He wasn't sure if it was a suggestive thing or the magic of it at work, but he _did_ feel a little calmer as he looked at it. He reached out and brushed his fingers along the edge of the glass, and he could feel the faint tingle of the plant's magical properties tingle his fingers. He smiled a little, and carefully picked up the gift and moved it to his fireplace mantle, where it would get the most sun.

 

Even after setting it down and taking a step back, Harry found it difficult to tear his gaze from the plant. It was almost hypnotizing, and he felt a swell of affection towards his godfather. Not love, but appreciative affection. With each gift, Sirius had shown Harry both how well he actually knew him, and the frequent promise that he would do all he could to give Harry a full and happy life with him, even though neither of them would have ever willingly chosen this.

 

“Thank you, Sirius,” Harry whispered, then grabbed a pinch of Floo powder from the mantle to call over Hermione.

 

 

 

**20 th September, 2004**

 

 

“ _That_ is what you're wearing for your date?”

 

Harry stopped short and turned to Hermione, who had been waiting for him to get changed. She had helped herself to a cup of tea and was perched in his favourite armchair looking at him with a look of minor incredulity.

 

“What's wrong with it?” Harry looked down at himself, while he tried to ignore the word she'd used— _date._ It was still beyond strange that he was going on a date with his _godfather._ Sirius had sent his owl with a note telling him to dress how he normally did, and that there was no need for robes (dress or otherwise). He'd taken that note to heart, and was dressed in his 'nice' jeans—expensive black denim that he'd only worn out once or twice when he'd gone out for a pub crawl with Ron. With it, he'd pulled on his dragonhide belt with silver buckle, a black T-shirt, and a fitted V-neck jumper in deep green layered over top.

 

“ _Jeans_? For a _date_?”

 

“Would you _please_ stop calling it that?” Harry demanded as he felt his face grow warm. “Sirius told me to dress how I normally do, but I figured I may as well do the thing properly and try to make myself look a little more posh, so why are you complaining?”

 

“Oh, it's just...I mean, don't you have anything _nicer_?” Harry raised his eyebrows to her question and she rolled her eyes. “Forget I asked that, of course you don't. You know Harry, one of these days I'm going to have Ginny help me take you _proper_ clothes shopping.”

 

“Yeah good luck with that,” Harry replied with a snort, though the glint in Hermione's eye was a bit unnerving.

 

A soft tap on the door drew the pair out of their discussion, and Harry felt himself caught between, _oh thank God,_ and _oh God, this is it._ He was relieved to have an out from a discussion about his taste in clothes (or lack thereof, apparently), and the sudden reminder of _why_ he was dressed up to begin with. Harry took a breath to steady himself, he slid his wand into the back pocket of his jeans, before he made for the door.

 

“Hey Harry,” Sirius said the moment he'd opened it, and Harry felt a warm flush creep up his cheeks.

 

“Er, hi,” he replied, while he took in the sight of Sirius and Andromeda. She stood back a little and offered Harry a small nod and smile before he refocused his gaze on his supposed 'date'. Sirius was dressed similarly, in dark jeans and a fitted black button-down shirt. Harry felt his flush worsen when he noticed Sirius's eyes give him the once-over, and then he hesitantly reached out his hand to Harry and waited for him to take it.

 

Harry stared at the extended appendage for a moment in a daze, and it was only when Hermione gave him a small nudge did he remember that they were all waiting for him. He took a stiff step forward and took Sirius's hand, and swallowed thickly when Sirius shifted his grip and threaded his fingers with Harry's. The small action struck him as a _definitely-not-platonic_ form of hand-holding, and Harry was again reminded what all these 'meetings' were leading up to. Harry hoped that his fear did not show on his face.

 

With a gentle tug, Sirius led Harry down the staircase and out into the bright Autumn sunshine, and he could feel his palm beginning to sweat against Sirius's. He couldn't quite work out _why_ he was so nervous this time around compared to their previous 'dates', but there seemed to be an intimacy to this encounter that had not been there before, and Harry hated how uneasy it was making him. He knew from Hermione's near-constant reassurance that Sirius wasn't allowed to do anything naughty (yet), but it did little to reassure him of this fact.

 

They walked in silence for a few minutes with Andromeda and Hermione a few steps behind them, but the silence felt heavy and awkward to Harry, and he took a stab at breaking it.

 

“So, erm, where are we going today?” He asked, and winced a little at the way his voice shook.

 

Sirius looked at him from the corner of his eye, and Harry did not miss the look of hurt he saw in his eyes. Harry felt his gut twist guiltily, but Sirius did not give him a chance to apologize as he answered Harry's question.

 

“It's a surprise,” he replied with a faint smile, and Harry frowned a little. The lack of hint as to what they were doing wasn't exactly reassuring. Sirius seemed to sense his unease and added, “nothing ridiculous, I promise, I didn't want you to feel awkward or out of place.”

 

“We wouldn't want that,” Harry replied, and smiled ruefully. Sirius chuckled a little, and drew a small narrow datebook from his pocket with his free hand. “Portkey?”

 

Harry could see Andromeda offering a similar Portkey to Hermione out of the corner of his eye, and he refocused his gaze on his godfather as he reached out to touch the book.

 

 

One dizzying trip later, the first thing Harry was aware of was that he was not sprawled on the ground. A strong arm around his waist had kept him from falling, and he felt his face grow warm at the contact. The instant Harry straightened up Sirius let his arm drop, and Harry looked around. They hadn't gone far, in fact, they were still in London. He recognized the muggle shops, and he blinked bemusedly.

 

“All right, why are we in Sutton Court?” Harry asked, laughter in his tone, and Sirius smirked a little.

 

“You'll see, c'mon,” he replied, and took Harry's hand again. Sirius led him down the street, and paused in front of a large building. Harry knew at once that it had to be a a wizarding establishment, given how the muggles that passed by did not seem to notice its presence at all. The front of the building seemed to be made entirely of glass, and a wooden, naturalist-style sign above the doors read, _Natura: London's Magical Botanical Gardens._

 

Below that there was a second sign, scrawled hastily on a piece of parchment and affixed to the window with spellotape. This one read simply, _No press._

 

“Reporters aren't allowed in here anymore,” Sirius explained as he led Harry towards the doors, with Hermione and Andromeda still trailing behind. “A few years ago, one of _The Weird Sisters_ was here and she got mobbed by reporters, and all the chaos put so much stress on some of the plants that they up and died. A lot of the ones here are from abroad, and so replacing them was really difficult. Since then, press isn't allowed inside so we'll have a Paparazzi-free afternoon.”

 

“Brilliant,” Harry grinned, and felt himself relax a little. In fact, following the explanation, even Sirius's hand in his did not feel as strange.

 

Sirius paid at the gate, a concept that still did not sit well with Harry, but he knew that it was all part of this ridiculous, archaic courtship. He couldn't _wait_ for all of this to be over so that he could feel less like some sort of high-class lady, and more like himself again.

 

Harry did not know what to expect with these gardens, but once they had passed through the entrance and into the main building itself, Harry felt his breath catch at the sight before him.

 

The entire building seemed to be built out of glass, and natural sunlight poured in through the panes, illuminating cobblestone paths around immaculately kept gardens with the most fascinating plants and flowers Harry had even seen. Some he recognized—Mandrakes, Venomous Tentacula, Snapdragons, but most were completely foreign to him. There were toadstools so large that Harry could have easily sat on one without worry that he'd break it, flowers varying in size from blooms as large as a Quaffle to as small as the head of a pin. There were pools filled with lily pads, frogs, and koi fish, a false waterfall surrounded by twisting vines, and at the very back of the gardens was an Arboretum, though _how_ they had managed to fit a small forest in the centre of London without the muggles noticing was well beyond him.

 

They wove through the gardens, following the pathways, and pausing occasionally to observe a particular plant or another. Harry was quite taken with the Chinese snake gourds, which hissed and snapped at them when they got too close, then relaxed again when they backed off, taking on the appearance of an overlarge cucumber. Sirius appeared highly amused when Harry tried to speak to them in parseltongue, though he couldn't understand it anymore, he could still recall some of the sounds, but the gourd, unfortunately, did not react.

 

 

After a couple of hours they took a break for lunch at the small café tucked at the back of the vast place. Over greasy plates of fish and chips, Harry once more had that sudden flash of emotion—that feeling that everything really _would_ be all right, that it wouldn't be anywhere near as awful as he'd originally imagined. It was almost as though the courtship had never happened, and Harry found himself smiling—even laughing along with Sirius as they chatted away. Andromeda and Hermione were still close by, a few tables over, but Harry found it surprisingly easy to keep his attention focused on Sirius, even when he would casually reach out and touch the back of his hand, or take his arm. It still felt strange to him, but Harry was beginning to get used to it.

 

 

“It's so weird...” Harry began, breaking the silence an hour later while they watched a few of the Gardens' employees feed hunks of red meat on long hooks to a giant Venus Fly Trap.

 

“What's weird?” Sirius asked, moving to drape an arm over Harry's shoulders. Like any physical contact that he shared with his godfather of late, it sparked a war in Harry's mind, both marvelling at the strange intimacy of it, and the unnerving reminder that he would have to get used to it, or the rest of his life would likely be very unpleasant. Harry leant into the contact, hoping that doing so would lessen his unease.

 

“How easy this... _date_ has been,” Harry replied, and winced a little at the wording. He was marginally relieved when he saw that the word had had a similar effect on Sirius. “I mean, it almost feels like old times, before all this happened.”

 

For a moment, Sirius appeared shocked by Harry's admission. His eyes went a little wide, and Harry watched his jaw muscles tense. He swallowed nervously; had he been wrong to tell Sirius that?

 

“It's good,” Sirius said at last, removing his arm from around Harry to take one of his hands. “I think, at least. I want you to be happy, Harry. I know neither of us picked this, but...we can make it work, I think.”

 

“Yeah,” Harry agreed, and for the first time in well over an hour his eyes strayed from Sirius and over to Hermione and Andromeda. Hermione beamed at him.

 

 

As their date drew to a close, Sirius escorted Harry home(with their chaperones close behind). His smiles at Harry came more easily, and Harry felt more relaxed than he had in a long time.

 

“Well,” Harry said as they stopped outside the door of his flat, “erm, I suppose I'll see you in a few days?”

 

“Yeah, our next date is supposed to be on the twenty-third,” Sirius replied, wincing a little at the phrasing.

 

“Okay, erm,” Harry paused, and he felt his face grow a little warm. “Thanks for today, I had a really good time.”

 

“It was my pleasure, Harry,” Sirius replied as he stepped a little closer, a question in his eyes. Harry could feel his heart jump into his throat, and he knew exactly what Sirius was asking. He nodded once.

 

Sirius brushed his lips over Harry's, and he felt himself shiver a little as he returned the kiss. It was over as quickly as it had begun, and Harry watched dazedly as Sirius stepped back, offered him one last smile, then with Andromeda at his side, they headed down the stairs and out of the building. Hermione meanwhile, with a huge grin on her face, followed Harry into his flat.

 

 

“Well, that wasn't awful,” Harry said to her as he shut the door and leant back against it. She grinned at him and he felt himself go a little warm.

 

“You looked like you enjoyed yourself,” Hermione remarked as Harry pushed himself off the door and they headed for the kitchen, where Harry set about making a tea for them both, and Hermione grabbed a box of biscuits out of the cabinet.

 

 

“It's weird,” Harry continued after they'd sat down, “like...today, I dunno, it just sort of felt like old times, like nothing had changed.”

 

“Well that's _good,_ isn't it? It means you two are getting more comfortable around each other again.”

 

“It is, I guess,” he replied with a vague shrug as he sipped his tea, “it just...I dunno, it still _feels_ wrong.”

 

“It _is_ wrong,” Hermione agreed with a small frown, “I mean, on many levels, it really is. But... Sirius is a good man, and I can see that he's really trying to make you feel comfortable with everything...and make you happy. He cares about you, Harry.”

 

Harry picked up a biscuit and turned it in his hand. Harry knew that Sirius cared for him, and he was doing everything he could to ease Harry into this and not make him feel pressured. He agreed with Hermione—from a social standpoint, it was very, very wrong. It still felt very much like he'd been thrown into a romantic relationship with a relative.

 

There was nothing Harry could do about that, however. It was something he _had_ to do, whether he liked it or not. The further they went with this courtship, the more at ease Harry felt. He, too, was doing his best to not make it hard on Sirius, as difficult as that was at times. Harry knew that Sirius wanted this about as much as he did, but they were going to have a future together—one neither of them would ever have chosen. Harry knew that he would have to put his reservations aside, and the more time that passed, the easier doing so seemed to be.

 

“I know he does,” Harry replied at last, “I just don't know what that means anymore.”

 

Harry bit into the biscuit; Hermione didn't have an answer for him.

 


	6. Denouement

Chapter Six – Denouement

 

 

**27 th September, 2004**

 

“Harry?”

 

Hermione's voice called from his sitting room, and Harry meandered out from his bedroom, a bag of green onion crisps dangling from his hand as he went, and saw her head resting in his fireplace.

 

“Yeah, what is it?” He asked, arching a curious brow at her floating head. It was strange to have her not barge in, and she looked genuinely concerned, which, Harry supposed, meant she had something regarding the courtship to discuss with him.

 

“Can I come through? I wanted to talk to you.”

 

Harry stared, still caught up in his confusion as to why she didn't just let herself in. It was a long moment before he realized that she was still waiting for an answer, and opened his mouth to answer, but his voice escaped him as little more than a squeak.

 

“Sure,” he coughed, “er, yeah, sure. Come through.”

 

Harry took a step back when he saw her green, swirling form approaching, and she tumbled out of the grate in a heap. He extended a hand to help her up, and she nodded her thanks as she stood with his help, then brushed herself off as she followed Harry through his flat and to the kitchen.

 

“Want a tea?” he asked without looking at her, and dropped the bag of crisps onto his little table.

 

“Yeah, that'd be nice,” she replied, followed by a sharp _crunch_ , which told Harry that she had swiped some of his snack.

 

Harry transferred the sugar and milk to the table, then tapped his kettle sharply with his wand, and it instantly began to issue steam from the spout. Hermione kept quiet, save for the sound of her eating his crisps, and did not speak until he had placed the mug in front of her and sat down, and snatched the bag back from her.

 

“So what did you want to talk about?” He asked, and watched as Hermione delayed answering by fiddling with her tea, adding milk and sugar, and sipping it thoughtfully before she finally spoke.

 

“I'm worried about you, Harry.”

 

“And why would you be worried about me?” Harry asked rhetorically, his voice heavy with sarcasm. Hermione frowned.

 

“I'm _worried_ because you seem to be taking all of this in stride.”

 

“And how is that a bad thing?”

 

“Harry,” Hermione said with a heavy sigh, and slammed the mug in her hands down a little harder than was necessary. “Sirius is doing everything that he can to make this easy on you, and meanwhile you...when you're not acting like it's some sort of death sentence, you're...you're like a doll, or something. You just...” Hermione trailed off a flushed a faint pink.

 

“I just _what,_ Hermione?”

 

“You just kind of go through it and nothing about what's going on seems to be sinking in. Harry, are you afraid of getting close to Sirius that way or—”

 

“Hermione, we've been over this,” Harry bowed his head forward and pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. He could feel a low thrum of anger and frustration at her, at Sirius, and at everything surrounding the courtship just below the surface of his mind, and it took a great feat of strength to keep from snapping at her. “No matter what changes between us, he'll _still_ be my fucking godfather. And—and when he touches me, or holds my hand, or kisses me, I— _fuck_.” Harry jumped up from the table and turned from her so that she would not be able to see that he was on the verge of tears.

 

“He was the closest thing I had to a father, and I need to tear down everything that he was to me, everything that I am to him and...and...how can you expect me to just accept it that easily and move on?”

 

“Harry, do you think that _any_ of this is easy for Sirius either?” Hermione asked exasperatedly, “we've been over this I don't know _how_ many times. He sees you as a son, and he always has. He hates this as much as you do, if not more. _But_ he's putting forward an effort to do what the courtship is asking of him, and trying to make you happy and not feel overwhelmed at the same time. Why can't you offer him the same courtesy?”

 

“Because...because...” Harry sputtered and raked his fingers through his hair in frustration. “It's just happening so _fast_. I can't just wake up one morning and decide to—to...” Harry felt a flush creep up his neck as the thought returned to him of what would be expected of him once the courtship was over. He shivered.

 

“Harry, I think you're being incredibly selfish,” Hermione said coldly, and Harry whirled around, mouth open angrily. Unfortunately, Hermione cut him off before he could speak. “You are _not_ the only one affected by this courtship, but you _are_ the only one acting like a child about it.”

 

Hermione stormed out before Harry had a chance to answer, and with a dull roar from his Floo connection, he was alone once more.

 

 

 

**29 th September, 2004**

 

Harry woke on the morning of the final 'date' with a bad taste in his mouth.

 

He hadn't spoken to Hermione since their argument two days earlier, and her words still rang in his ears, in particular her insinuation that he was being _selfish_.

 

Harry gritted his teeth as it came to mind again, and dragged himself out of bed, his normally pleasant morning routine ruined by his anger at one of his best friends. He was going along with all of this, wasn't he? He wondered as he went to his wardrobe and began to roughly dig through his clothes, How did that make him _selfish_?

 

“What does she know, it's not like _she_ has to go through this thing...” Harry muttered angrily, and once more he pushed away the thoughts behind a mask of calm, and resumed preparing himself for the 'date' more or less on autopilot.

 

 

The Botanical Gardens, a wine-tasting in the English countryside, and a guided tour through the Quidditch Hall of Fame. Harry felt like he was being spoiled, and the fact that Sirius was shelling out all the gold for these outings never failed to make Harry feel even worse about the whole situation. He had always been self-sufficient, and on top of everything else that was expected of him, he hated the unspoken insinuation that all he needed to do was stand around and look pretty.

 

_It's almost over,_ Harry thought to himself, _this is the last 'date', then it's back to ridiculous Pomp and Circumstance, then..._

 

He couldn't finish the thought.

 

Then he would _marry_ his godfather.

 

It was more than a little confusing to both look forward and dread the same thing so strongly. Harry forced himself to dismiss the thought for the moment, and instead focused his attention on wondering where Sirius would be taking him for their last 'date' together.

 

 

At the same time, this query led him to remember the little moments he'd shared with Sirius over the last week—the hand-holding, the chaste kisses, the casual, innocent embraces. It was all beginning to feel familiar, and the more time they spent together like this, the less strange it felt. Sirius was still careful about not pushing Harry too far, and any intimate moments were so brief that they were over before Harry had the chance to overthink it, which was both a blessing and a curse. With Hermione's admonitions still in the back of his mind, he found it harder than usual to hide his anxieties and anger at it all behind his usual neutral mask.

 

 

A few hours later, the flare of his Floo connection coming to life drew Harry from his thoughts. Hermione's familiar form tumbled out of the fire, she dressed far more casually than he'd seen her since this whole thing had started in a pair of jeans, a mauve jumper, and a pair of trainers.

 

“Ready?” She asked stiffly as she straightened up, and Harry offered up a vague shrug in response.

 

“As ready as I'll ever be,” he replied in the same awkward tone, and she frowned at him. “D'you have any idea where Sirius is taking us this evening?”

 

“No idea,” she answered at once, “all he told me was to dress casually and muggle, because the place he's taking us will be good to help us unwind, so I'm guessing it's some kind of pub or something.”

 

“Can't get more casual than that,” Harry said, and at the same moment there was a knock on his door. Hermione gave him a significant look, which Harry ignored as he went to answer it.

 

Sirius and Andromeda stood on the other side, but even in casual clothes, it was still clear that they came from a moneyed background. From the Hugo Boss leather jacket that Sirius wore over a black V-neck jumper and artfully torn jeans to Andromeda's midnight blue angora jumper and black trousers, it was like the pair had no idea how to 'dress down'. Even the fact that Sirius's jacket was clearly old, weather-worn, and faded did not take away from its casual elegance, and if Sirius's facial expression was any indication—something that fell between a smirk and a smile—he _knew_ how good he looked too.

 

Sirius stepped forward, his expression softening to a warm smile as he rested his hand just above Harry's hip and leant in for a light kiss in greeting. Though Harry had grown used to this ritual, it still felt a little strange to him, and he could feel his skin tingling with negation at his touch, like salt in an open wound. Harry had a feeling that he knew what may have caused the mental backtrack, and he hoped that his unease didn't show on his face. It wasn't Sirius's fault that this was happening, he knew that, but he hated that his argument with Hermione had seemingly made him revert back to how he had been at the beginning of the courtship.

 

“Ready to go?” he asked, and Harry nodded his head once as Sirius took his hand. His fingers seemed to tingle as they twined with the older man's, and Harry felt a warm flush creep up his neck.

 

“Yeah. Where are we off to this time?” Harry's question was met with a small, conspiratorial smile.

 

“You'll see, I think you'll enjoy this one. C'mon.” He gave Harry's hand a gentle tug and he led him away from his flat and down into the comfortably cool Autumn evening. Sirius let go of Harry's hand and draped an arm around his waist. The contact was met with Andromeda none-too-subtly clearing her throat in their general direction. Sirius's arm quickly moved up to Harry's shoulders.

 

At the Apparition spot, Sirius lifted his other arm and wrapped it around Harry's shoulders in a close embrace. Harry felt somewhat startled by this sudden shift in physical contact on Sirius's behalf from tentative to handsy in such a short span of time—at least compared to their earlier 'dates', but before he could ask, Harry felt the suffocating pull of Side-Along Apparition envelop him.

 

They reappeared in the centre of London, not too far from the Thames. Harry looked around as he shook off the aftereffects of Apparition, and he picked out their destination easily. It wasn't exactly difficult to take note of the one building that no muggle paid any mind to, though the name of the place told Harry at once what their evening would entail.

 

_The Duelling Pub_

 

_Oh this is going to end well,_ Harry thought with an amused smirk.

 

“C'mon,” Sirius said as he took Harry's hand and led him inside, closely followed by Andromeda and Hermione. Harry could hear the distressed lilt of Hermione's voice, but she was too far away for him to clearly discern her words. He'd known her long enough to assume that she was pointing out that combining large amounts of malt beverage with duelling was about as safe as poking Grawp in the eye.

 

Inside the pub, Harry was surprised to find that it was much more organized than he would have expected. On the left side of the space were several long lanes much like a bowling alley in style, and there seemed to be some sort of charm in place to keep the patrons from flying into the other lanes when they were thrown back by a curse or hex. On the other side were several small round tables and a bar, mostly comprised of drunken duelling enthusiasts cheering their friends on from their seats.

 

One thing Harry couldn't help but notice was that there were no women in the place. The observers and duellers alike looked on to Hermione and Andromeda with something close to a sneer, and both Harry and Sirius exchanged a grin. It was clear that like Harry, Sirius would pay good money to see some of these sexist gits try and best either one of them.

 

Harry was itching to get onto the other side and duel Sirius, but with all of the lanes occupied, they reluctantly stepped over to the bar, and Sirius ordered them a round of butterbeer. Harry was grateful for the mild drink—he wanted to be mostly clearheaded this evening.

 

Hermione and Andromeda took seats at a nearby table, and it wasn't long before one of the arrogant patrons wandered over to them. In between the distance and noise it was difficult to hear what he was saying, but by Hermione's expression, Harry was certain that he'd gotten the gist of it. Following Hermione's nod and taking note of the confident gleam in her eye, Harry jumped when he felt Sirius's breath ghost his cheek as he whispered in his ear.

 

“Ten galleons says she knocks him out cold in under five minutes.” Harry turned a little to look at him to see if he was serious, and at the smirk that he saw on Sirius's face, he couldn't help but laugh a little.

 

“Five minutes? I give him sixty seconds.”

 

“You're on,” Sirius replied, and they shook on it. Harry turned to watch Hermione get up and follow the large man to the other side of the pub.

 

Harry sipped on his butterbeer and leant back against the bar to watch his friend. Hermione stepped up to a lane almost directly in the middle of the space, her wand at the ready.

 

As she and her opponent bowed to one another, Harry jumped a little at a faint tickling sensation against the back of his hand. He looked down, his free hand casually dangling from the bar where he had propped his elbow, and he saw Sirius's fingertips lazily tracing the veins that he found there. It wasn't an unpleasant sensation in the strictest sense, but it still unsettled Harry.

 

He forced his gaze back to Hermione while he tried to work out Sirius's behaviour so far that evening. He was much more free with his affections than he had been during their previous 'dates', but Harry wasn't certain what had caused the shift. It wasn't like Sirius was overstepping his bounds by any means, but it was definitely further than they'd gone before, at least in terms of intimate touch.

 

Lost in his haze of thought, he was drawn out of it by a loud groan, and saw the man that had challenged Hermione on the ground, while Hermione looked like she didn't have a scratch on her.

 

Immediately, one of the man's friends queued up to try to take Hermione on, and Sirius pressed a handful of coins into Harry's hand. He grinned a little as he pocketed it, while Sirius eased back against the bar in a similar position to Harry, while he moved to drape a casual arm across his shoulders. Harry tensed involuntarily, and immediately Sirius began to draw his arm back.

 

“Am I making you uncomfortable?” He asked in a low tone just as Hermione blasted the second challenger across the room.

 

“No,” Harry answered at once, turning just in time to see relief flood Sirius's worried expression. “You just startled me. This... _stuff_ is still all pretty new to me. I...it's just further than we've gone before, so you caught me off-guard a little.”

 

“A lot of this is new to me too, Harry,” Sirius replied softly, “we're learning as we go, you know that.”

 

“Yeah, I know.”

 

“I thought it might be best for us to get more used to more intimate touch, now that we're nearing the end of the courtship,” Sirius explained softly, his hand resting against Harry's shoulder, with his thumb lightly brushing against the joint in a soft caress. “If you don't feel that you're ready though, I'll take a step back. Was I...should I have suggested it first?”

 

“No, no,” Harry said quickly, “you're right that we need to get more comfortable with each other, I just...it's still weird for me.”

 

Harry felt his face burn, and again his argument with Hermione flared into his mind.

 

“Sirius?”

 

“Hm?”

 

“D'you...d'you think that I'm selfish?”

 

Sirius stared at Harry as though he'd spontaneously grown a second head.

 

“You're the least selfish person I've ever met, Harry, where is this coming from?”

 

“Er, well, Hermione and I had an argument the other day about some, er, _stuff_ about the courtship, and she called me selfish...” Harry trailed off as a warm embarrassed flush crept up his neck, and focused on his knees instead of the concerned expression Sirius's grey gaze carried.

 

“Harry,” Sirius began with a heavy sigh, and he squeezed Harry's shoulders in a gentle half-hug. “I don't fault you for being more resistant to all of this than I am. That's not to say that I'm _okay_ with this, but...your whole life, you've had every mentor or parent figure systematically taken from you one after the other. It'll take you a little longer to feel comfortable with this, so don't let Hermione try to badger you into forcing yourself on my account.” Sirius brushed his lips against Harry's temple, and Harry felt in that moment as though a ten-ton weight had been lifted off his shoulders. He turned, a _thank you_ perched upon his tongue, but at the last moment Harry changed his mind and arched up a little to kiss Sirius lightly.

 

It was little more than a peck, and was over in a split-second, and it left both men looking rather dazed, Sirius with a smile on his face that bordered on dopey, while Harry's was much more sheepish. Without a word, they resumed watching Hermione duel.

 

 

 

Though Harry had wanted to take to the floor and try duelling Sirius, he was finding that it was much more fun watching Hermione duel practically every man in the place. None of them lasted for more than ten minutes against her, and despite the clear fact that she was a supreme duellist, none of the patrons seemed to be able to accept that a _girl_ could defeat them, only to be proven wrong every time. Sirius kept his arm around Harry while they watched her, and every so often he leant in to offer a comment or two here and there.

 

Each time, Harry felt his face warm at Sirius's closeness, and he did not miss the way his eyes would drop to Harry's mouth. It was quite clear what Sirius wanted to ask, but each time he seemed to lose his nerve at the last minute, and he would back off. After he leant in for the fifth time, Harry had had enough of the older man's one step forward, one step back actions.

 

“Sirius, if you want to kiss me, all you have to do is ask,” Harry said blandly, and laughed when Sirius bowed his head in embarrassment.

 

“I'm sorry, Harry,” he replied softly, “ever since that first kiss I've wanted it...wanted _you_ much more, but...You're still my godson, I _shouldn't_ want it.”

 

“And you're still my godfather,” Harry replied at once, and grimaced. “I just mean...like you said, it's not like we have any choice in the matter,” Harry replied softly, “we just have to make the best of it, or we'll be miserable for the rest of our lives.” He paused, and felt himself flush as he added softly, “er, that is to say, if you want to kiss me...you can.”

 

Sirius smiled weakly, somewhere between joy and anguish, though Harry couldn't tell which was the stronger emotion at the moment. He drew Harry a little closer, and their lips met.

 

It was as chaste as every other kiss they'd shared, but it left Harry feeling pleasantly warm all over, and as though someone had released a dozen butterflies in the pit of his stomach. Sirius's hand dropped to the top of Harry's thigh, and immediately Andromeda interrupted them.

 

“Hands, Sirius,” she said, and the pair turned to see her cocking an eyebrow at him with a clear _you-should-know-better-shame-on-you_ look on her face. Sirius retracted his hand at once, and smiled at Harry apologetically. Harry returned the smile, and felt himself flush an even deeper shade of red, more than anything because of the fact that like with the hand-holding and other forms of contact they'd shared, it no longer felt that strange to him.

 

 

Eventually, Harry grew a little tired of just watching Hermione utterly destroy virtually every patron in the place (not begrudging her one ounce for shirking her chaperoning duties) and challenged Sirius. Sirius seemed all too happy to go up against him, and they selected a lane far from Hermione, to keep her from getting too distracted from her slowly shrinking list of challengers—how she wasn't tired yet was anyone's guess.

 

“Ready, Harry?” Sirius asked as he brandished his wand, and Harry grinned.

 

“Yeah, you?” his words were met with a similar grin, and they bowed, never taking their eyes off each other.

 

They duelled.

 

Both of them more than a little rusty, given that neither of them had really done anything in relation to Defence or duelling following the war. Even so, they shot curses back and forth at lightning speed, both ducking and casting Protection Charms just as quickly. Sirius's Stinging Hex bounced off Harry's Protection Charm and burned an impressive hole in the sign above the duelling area that read:

 

 

_No Unforgivable Curses, No Slicing Hexes, No Dark Curses. NO exceptions._

_-Management_

 

 

Harry's following Stunning Spell glanced off Sirius's own Protection Charm, and Harry had to duck to avoid his own spell bouncing back at him.

 

His moment of avoiding his own spell had been his downfall, and before he had fully stood up and got his bearings some sort of hex hit him in in the chest, and with a grunt Harry found himself thrown backward about two feet and into the wall.

 

The walls had been lined with some sort of cushioning charm, and Harry bounced off it harmlessly before he slid down to land in a heap. Grinning, Sirius crossed the space and helped Harry to his feet.

 

“You all right, Harry?” Sirius asked, and at the same moment Harry wobbled a little, and Sirius wrapped an arm around him to steady him.

 

“Yeah, fine,” Harry replied with a short shake of his head, “I just stood up too fast.”

 

Even so, Sirius kept his arm around Harry as he led him back to their seats at the bar, and ordered him a glass of water, which he sipped as the dizziness began to recede.

 

“Okay,” Harry said a minute later as he set down the empty glass, “ _now_ can I have a butterbeer?”

 

Chortling, Sirius flagged down the barman.

 

 

Two hours later, they finally decided to call it a night—when Hermione was simply too tired, both physically and magically, to accept any more challengers. Harry had to admit that for once he didn't particularly mind playing the part of spectator—it had been great fun watching Hermione take every man in the place down a peg or two.

 

Sirius walked with Harry ahead of Andromeda and Hermione, his fingers twisted casually with Harry's. Harry found himself not minding the contact—it was beginning to feel comfortable and familiar, rather than strange. In fact, Harry found himself beginning to enjoy it, which took him by surprise.

 

“Well,” Harry said as they Apparated back to his flat, and Sirius escorted him to the doors of the building. “Thanks for a great evening, I mean it. I had a really good time.”

 

Sirius kissed him, and Harry found himself returning it readily. Like with the other kisses they'd shared up to that point, it was over almost as soon as it had begun, but it was still enough to make Harry feel very warm.

 

“Well, I'll see you soon, Harry,” Sirius said, his voice a little rough, the tone enough to bring a flush to Harry's cheeks. Sirius chuckled and kissed him again, then stepped down to join Andromeda, while Hermione moved to join Harry. The pair watched the older witch and wizard step over to the Apparition spot, where they Disapparated.

 

Harry and Hermione walked up to his flat in silence. After Harry closed the door behind her, he finally spoke.

 

“Hermione?” She met his gaze, her expression wary. “I'm sorry for what I said the other day. You were...well, you were right, and I should've listened to you.”

 

His apology was met with a watery smile, and she closed the distance between them to hug Harry tightly.

 

“I know, Harry, it's all right.”

 

Smiling, Harry hugged her back.

 

 

 

 

**1 st October, 2004**

 

Harry woke late that Friday, and it was well into the afternoon by the time he'd properly gotten up, showered, dressed, and tucked into his breakfast. With all the excitement over the last few weeks, Harry felt as though he was beginning to run out of steam. Despite what the end of the courtship would bring, Harry found that he was looking forward to it—if nothing else so that he could finally have some proper peace and quiet.

 

Harry's musings were interrupted by a sharp _tap, tap, tap_ against his window, and he looked up to see Sirius's owl there.

 

The last gift.

 

Caught between apprehension and curiosity, Harry got up and let the creature in. He dropped a large square package on the table with a heavy _thunk_ , then took off just as quickly.

 

Harry stepped back over to the dining table after he'd latched the window, picked up the envelope affixed to the top of it, and tore it open.

 

 

_Harry,_

 

_The last gift is meant to show fidelity and trust. Meaning, I will be faithful to you and not stray, and trust you to do the same. The gift is also designed to show the Intended that they will not lose themselves when this courtship is over—they will still have their own life, their privacy, they will not merely become 'the spouse'._

 

_I hope you like it,_

 

_Sirius_

 

 

Harry's face burned a little at the implication of them as a couple that rang through the letter, and he set it aside to focus his attention on the package. It was heavy—much heavier than any of the other gifts had been. After a moment, he tore away the brown paper in one sharp movement.

 

Inside, Harry found a wooden box.

 

It was highly polished oak, inset with shining blue stones that Harry recognized as pieces of Lapis Lazuli, and when he opened it, he found it to be lined with some sort of strange black velvet. Inside, he also found another letter.

 

_Harry—_

 

_This is a mokebox. Whatever you put in here will be completely invisible to anyone but you. It also has an Undetectable Extension Charm on it, and so it can also hold a huge amount of items._

 

_The magic is in the mokeskin lining, and the box itself is keyed only to you. Even Albus Dumbledore wouldn't be able to get into this thing and take its contents out._

 

_Sirius_

 

 

Harry closed the box and stared at it a while longer. His fingers brushed over the sleek finish, smiling idly to himself as he looked it over. Then, he lifted the thing up, transported it to his bedroom, and set it down on the empty side of his writing desk. He gathered together some of his completed scrolls for his writing project, then tucked them into the box, and watched with fascination as they disappeared before his eyes. When he reached back in however, they reappeared at once.

 

Harry's smile remained upon his face as he stacked the rest of his finished scrolls into the box and closed it with a sharp _click._

 

There was something oddly final in that small action, and Harry regarded the box for a moment longer before he turned and went to the fire to call Hermione.

 

 


	7. Changing Seasons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Kids' ages are an approximation pulled from the wiki and lexicon.
> 
> **It was brought to my attention by a reader on another fic that the way AO3 has been formatting my fics has given them ridiculously huge spaces. This chapter will have the “fixed” formatting, and I'm going through all my posted stuff to fix it, so it will match up with what has already been posted eventually. 
> 
> S/O to my braintwin KuriQuinn, who is a dialogue goddess and gave me a hand with this chapter. If you're into (mostly) T-rated Naruto fanfiction, def check her out cuz she's brilliant.

Chapter Seven – Changing Seasons

 

**8 th October, 2004**

 

Harry paced in his sitting room, tugging absentmindedly on the sleeves of his new dress robes, while he chewed on what was left of his fingernails.

Today was it.

The _final_ major event preceding his marriage.

Harry raked his fingers through his hair; no matter how many times it came to mind, the fact that he had to _marry_ his godfather was no easier to process than the first five hundred times he had thought it over and tried to envision it.

He checked the time by the analog clock on the wall—a muggle clock, Harry had never had the patience for the wizarding kind—and found that Hermione was due any minute.

“I don't know if I can do this...” Harry muttered to himself as he raked his fingers through his hair again, just as his Floo flared to life and Hermione tumbled out.

This time she was wearing a different dress than the one she'd worn at the first two meetings. It was deep green, and made of some sort of material that seemed to shimmer when the light caught it. Harry was certain that Ron was going to appreciate the dress's plunging neckline much more than he did, but he could not deny that Hermione looked _amazing_.

“Wow,” he said as she straightened up and dusted herself off, and she flushed an attractive red.

“Is that boyspeak for I look okay?” she asked, and Harry snorted.

“Something like that. You look great, seriously,” he replied with a grin, and she smiled her thanks. Without a word, she stepped over to his mirror to fix her hair, then turned back to look him over with a critical eye.

“We're going to look like a walking Slytherin insignia when we get there, you realize,” she said as she nodded to Harry's robes. They were black like the other ones he'd bought over the course of the courtship, but cut differently. They were fitted, but with a lower cut collar, and the sleek lining felt almost sinfully comfortable against his skin.

The fact that he was aware of how good he looked in them filled Harry with a strange sense of apprehension. Like with the first meetings he'd had with Sirius, he didn't want to give the older man the impression that he was happy about this arrangement. At the same time however, Harry no longer wanted to make it look like he was facing the bowels of Hell when it came to their impending nuptials.

“Yeah, well, at least we look good,” Harry replied, and she grinned.

“Small comfort.”

 

~*~

 

 

Harry and Hermione Apparated to just outside the gates of the Burrow, and even at a distance Harry could hear the noise from inside. Harry felt his stomach twist nervously—this was the first time he'd be seeing everyone in over two months, and though he'd known through Hermione that they were all aware of the situation, it was still a little daunting to be the centre of attention (again).

“C'mon,” Hermione said as she gave his hand a gentle tug, “everyone's waiting.”

Harry took a slow breath to steady himself, then walked stiffly past the gates and up the pathway to the door. Hermione lifted her fist to knock when Harry did not immediately do so, while she shot him a look of minor annoyance.

The door swung open instantly, and Harry found himself face to face with Molly Weasley. Her face was slightly flushed and her eyes wide as she took in the sight of Harry and Hermione standing there. Her expression brightened immediately upon seeing them.

“Harry dear,” she said, smiling warmly, “it's so good to see you.” Molly pulled him into a motherly hug that was tight enough that for a moment Harry worried that she might break his ribs.

“It's good to see you too, Mrs Weasley,” Harry replied, and her smile widened slightly.

“Please dear,” she said with a soft laugh, “how many times must I ask you to call me Molly?” Harry felt an embarrassed flush begin to creep up his neck.

“Sorry Mrs—er, I mean, Molly,” Harry amended, and with another warm smile she gave Hermione a similar welcoming hug, then ushered them both inside.

“Come in, come in, everyone's dying to see you, Harry,” Molly said, and though Harry knew that she meant well, the words did little more than heighten his nervousness as she led him farther into the house.

There were people everywhere.

Bill was leaning against the sitting room's fireplace keeping a close eye on one-year-old Dominique and Molly II, while Teddy and Victoire raced through the house, shrieking with laughter as George chased them. Angelina was sitting and chatting with Ginny, Audrey, and Fleur, little Fred II bundled in Angelina's arms, and Arthur was heatedly arguing with Percy. However, Ron and Charlie seemed to be absent.

Harry was about to remark on the absence of his best friend and the second eldest Weasley child when they tramped in through the kitchen, faces flushed and sweaty, looking distinctly out of place in Quidditch gear while everyone around them were in dress robes. It was clear that they had been out flying, and Harry felt a pull at his chest—he hadn't been flying in _ages._

“ _Harry!_ ” Ron cried jovially, the two syllables enough to draw everyone's attention to the pair still standing in the doorway with Molly, while Ron rushed over and clapped him hard on the shoulder, hard enough to make him wobble a little. “Good to see you, mate! It's been ages!” He turned to his girlfriend, but she lifted her hands up to stop him short.

“Don't you _dare_ hug me, Ronald. You stink,” she said while Harry snorted. The redhead seemed to be caught between amusement and offence at her words, then dropped his arms with a helpless shrug.

“Fine then, I'll be right back.” He turned and headed for the stairs, with Charlie hot on his heels, calling out first dibs on the shower as they went.

Ron's greeting of him seemed to be a catalyst of sorts, and Harry found himself suddenly surrounded by people, all wanting to talk to him at the same time. Harry grinned feebly as he greeted them all; though they were his family in all ways but blood, he still found that he was mildly overwhelmed, and their faces almost seemed to bleed together as he hugged the women and shook hands with the men.

That was, until Teddy got his turn.

“ _Uncle Harry!_ ”

“ _Oof!_ ” Harry grunted as Teddy barrelled at him with the force of a rugby player, and he staggered back a few steps as the six-year-old latched himself to Harry's waist in a vice-like hug. “Hey Teddy,” he said weakly, and the violet-haired, amber-eyed youth grinned up at him.

“I haven't seen you in _forever!_ ” Teddy gushed, while still holding onto him. “Gran said it's 'cause you're getting _married_. Is that true? Are you _really_ getting married? How come you're getting married? Am I going to have an auntie now, too?”

“Hello to you Teddy,” Harry replied with a snicker at the thought of _Auntie Sirius_ , and hefted the child into his arms. He was getting so big, and Harry realized with a funny sort of jolt in his stomach that he soon wouldn't be able to lift him at all. For some strange reason, Harry found that prospect especially upsetting.

“Yeah, the party here is for Sirius and me,” Harry replied at last, and struggled a little to keep his voice steady—there was no reason to show the kid just how much of a nervous wreck he was at that particular moment. “He's gonna ask Molly and Arthur if he can marry me.”

“How come?” Teddy cocked his head to the side, and his violet locks fell into his eyes.

“Because...” Harry trailed off, at a complete loss for what to say.

“It's a family thing,” Hermione interjected quickly, “it's a bit complicated Teddy, but in a way, Harry's ancestors wanted this for him.”

“Then why does he have to ask Auntie Molly and Uncle Arthur if Uncle Harry's answers wanted it?”

“Ancestors, Teddy,” Harry corrected with a soft chuckle as he began to weave through the throng of people with Teddy propped against his hip. “It's sort of a tradition—there's special rules that we both need to follow, and this is one of them.”

“Oh, okay,” Teddy replied as Harry sat down heavily and set Teddy down. He promptly pulled himself up onto the sofa next to Harry. Harry grinned and wrapped an arm around his godson, gave him a small squeeze and ruffled his hair, then reached for a glass of wine. While he adored the kid, his presence was making him feel even more awkward about the entire courtship.

Unfortunately, Harry hadn't been paying close enough attention to Teddy's curious stare, and the boy decided to pose his next question just as Harry lifted the wine goblet to his lips.

“Are you two gonna naked mud wrestle? Uncle Ron says that's what two boys do when they get married.”

Harry inhaled the wine rather than swallowed it, and choked as he began to cough. Teddy stared, his expression caught between shock and confusion as Hermione clapped him on the back several times, her lips pressed into a thin line and her face red, though it was unclear whether she was trying to keep from laughing, or annoyed by what Ron had said to Teddy.

“Why don't you ask your Gran about it when she gets here?” Hermione asked him kindly, and Teddy shrugged a little.

“'Kay.” Without another word, Teddy slipped off the sofa and darted off, presumably to rejoin the other kids.

“Don't get me wrong,” Harry rasped as he watched him go, “I love that kid, but I'll be happy when his Questions About Everything phase is over.”

“Oh it's not his fault, Harry,” Hermione said with a giggle.

“Yeah, it's Ron's,” Harry deadpanned, and her giggle shifted to a full laugh.

“Oh it's not _completely_ Ron's fault either,” she said, “you're just a little stressed about today.”

“ _A little stressed_ being a minor understatement,” Harry muttered, and Hermione rolled her eyes.

“Don't be a drama queen. The courtship hasn't been _that_ bad, has it?”

“Well, no...”

“—then stop complaining. You're doing nothing but making yourself miserable,” Hermione said simply, and helped herself to a glass of wine as well.

 _Easy for you to say,_ Harry thought with a frown, but he was stopped from dwelling any further on what was to come when a familiar ginger plopped down on his opposite side.

“Hey mate,” Ron said with a grin, “for a bride-to-be you look positively ecstatic.”

“I won't consider you for my Maid of Honour if you insist on being a prat,” Harry muttered sarcastically before he added, “or, y'know, tell my godson that me and Sirius are gonna _naked mud wrestle_.” Ron snorted.

“Oh however will I cope!” he cried dramatically, “and you know I'd look positively _radiant_ in pink taffeta.” Harry snorted and shook his head, while he watched Hermione roll her eyes in his peripheral vision.

“But seriously mate,” Ron said, dropping his voice down from teasing to neutral, “it's gonna be okay. I've visited with Sirius almost as much as Hermione has. He's doing his best to give you a happy life, so that you don't feel like you're just settling. I wouldn't worry so much.”

“Yeah,” Harry agreed, smiling weakly, though he didn't exactly believe it, “sure.”

 

~*~

 

An hour later, Harry and the others were shunted out of the sitting room, and the doors were closed as they were informed that Sirius needed to set up the familial gift.

Harry frowned at this. If Sirius had arrived, how come he hadn't greeted Harry first? He felt both miffed and somewhat relieved, and as though reading his mind, Hermione answered the question he never asked.

“It's sort of like the muggle superstition of seeing a bride in her dress before the wedding,” she explained softly, “he's not supposed to see you before the giving of the familial gift and the request for your hand in marriage.”

Harry felt his face grow a little warm at the word _marriage_. He hated how much of a blushing bride he was turning into, but he had no idea how to hide his feelings any better—he couldn't help the mortified feeling that refused to go away, no matter how far into the courtship he got.

A small hand slipped into his, and Harry looked down to see Hermione's hand gently squeeze his.

“Thank you,” Harry murmured as he returned the gesture.

“What for?”

“You know what,” Harry replied with a snort, “for getting me through this, helping me keep my head, not hexing me when we had that argument.”

“Any time,” Hermione whispered back as she gave his hand another squeeze. “You're my best friend, Harry, of course I wouldn't let you go blundering in all on your own.”

At that same moment, the sitting room doors slid open, and Sirius stood on the other side, once more looking every part the aristocrat in fine silk robes of a deep maroon. His hair was immaculate, and his eyes were focused solely on Harry.

Despite Harry's best efforts, he felt his face grow warm as Sirius extended a hand to him.

Harry dropped Hermione's hand and reached out to Sirius, while Sirius motioned for the rest of the guests to follow them in.

Inside, a huge expanse of the sitting room wall had been covered by a thick black curtain. The family assembled in a semi circle around the couple, while Molly and Arthur stepped forward. Harry saw Teddy holding onto Andromeda's hand, his thumb popped into his mouth. He had a strange look of uncertainty in his eyes, and he lurched forward as though he wanted to go to Harry, but Andromeda stopped him short and crouched to whisper in his ear. Harry offered Teddy a small, reassuring smile, then turned his attention back to Sirius and his surrogate parents.

“Surrogate Father and Mother of my Intended, Arthur and Molly Weasley,” Sirius proclaimed formally, once more rattling his words off as though from a script like he had before, “I have courted my Intended, Harry Potter, these last two months, and I come before you now to formally ask your permission for his hand. Know that my intentions are pure: no harm will come to your surrogate son; never will he hunger, feel pain, or sorrow at my hand. I will endeavour to make his life one of peace and joy, this I so swear. With this request, I offer you this humble gift.”

Sirius turned to the wall and lifted his wand. He waved it with one long sweep of his arm, and the curtain vanished. What was on the other side elicited several soft gasps of surprise and awe from the assembled crowd.

Upon the wall, painted in intricate detail, was a family tree.

Laid over a rendering similar to Yggdrasil, were soft, glittering lines of gold that wove their way over the wall, nothing the name of every Weasley back ten generations, all the way down to the present day. Harry noticed with a start that even _his_ name was present, written in silver instead of gold at the very end of the list of Molly and Arthur's children, signifying his status as their more or less surrogate son.

“Oh _Sirius,_ ” Molly gushed as she hurried forward to examine it more closely, “it's _beautiful!_ ” Her eyes shone as she studied it, her fingers following the lines connecting every member of their family, but stopped when she reached Fred's name, a muted gold compared to the glimmering ones of his still-living siblings. Harry felt his throat grow tight, and he gave Sirius's hand a small squeeze, which he returned at once.

“We accept your suit,” Arthur said, his throat a little croaky as he forced his gaze away from the family tree and back to the couple standing before him. “You may wed our son.”

Sirius smiled his thanks, turned fully to Harry and dropped to one knee. Harry felt his face flame again as Sirius drew a small box covered in red velvet from his pocket, and opened it to reveal a simple silver ring, inset with a cut sapphire that was bracketed by two minuscule diamonds.

Sirius removed the ring, took Harry's left hand in his, and slid the ring into place. Harry felt it shrink a little to fit his finger, and Sirius stood up, pulling Harry close. Harry's breath hitched, having quite forgotten that he was expected to kiss Sirius before an audience, though all thoughts of embarrassment fled from his mind as Sirius's lips moulded to his. Sirius's large hand cradled his chin, and the other rested at the small of his back, holding him close in a lover's embrace.

Harry lifted his hands, they awkwardly gripping the front of Sirius's robes, while distantly he heard the applause of his family and friends fill the silence. It was strange, as though he was hearing it through a tunnel, and Harry paid it almost no mind.

 

Sirius was the first to pull back, and Harry felt very warm, but for a very different reason than he had been expecting. Something had changed in that moment, but Harry couldn't work out exactly _what._ The whole idea of marrying Sirius still carried much of its strangeness, but it seemed to be somewhat muted, as though the moment the ring had slid onto his finger the concept of them as a couple became more real, and his previous relationship with the man was now secondary, and beginning to fade. Harry didn't know what it meant exactly, but he followed Sirius's lead in turning to the assembled crowd, and hand-in-hand they began to accept congratulations from everyone one by one.

It was awkward.

Like them, the Weasleys seemed to be caught between the strange fact that they were godfather and godson, and the fact that they had no real choice in the matter, one way or the other. To their credit, they acted as though they were any other couple, though their eyes told Harry a very different story.

At the very back of the group stood Teddy with Andromeda, and he looked up at Sirius uncertainly. He had been as present in his life as Harry had been, and in many ways was as much godfather to him as Harry was.

“Go on,” Andromeda murmured to the little boy, and gave him a gentle nudge. He stepped forward, his eyes wide and his head cocked to the side a little as his eyes flitted from Harry, to Sirius, and back again.

“Will you still be my uncle, Uncle Harry?” Teddy asked uncertainly when he'd reached them, and Harry blinked in surprise at the question.

“'Course I will, Ted, why wouldn't I be?”

“Victoire said that you'll have real kids, so you won't have time for me anymore,” Teddy said in a rush, his eyes brimming with tears.

Harry felt his heart break for his godson, and he made a mental note to talk to Bill about this. He crouched down so that he was eye-level with Teddy, and pushed back his own discomfort at discussing his future as he regarded the little, insecure boy.

“No one could replace you, Teddy,” Harry said gently, “whether we have kids or not, you'll still be my godson, and I'll still visit you all the time, and you'll still be welcome to sleep over whenever you like. All right?”

Teddy's face broke into a watery smile, and he jumped forward to hug Harry. The force of it knocked him back a little, and he chuckled as he hugged the boy back.

“Congradjlations, Uncle Harry,” Teddy said softly, jumbling up the felicitation in such an endearing matter that Harry had to laugh.

“Thanks, Teddy,” Harry whispered, then straightened up as Teddy darted off again. He turned, and felt his face grow warm as he spied Sirius smiling warmly at him, his eyes alight with pride.

“What are you grinning about?” Harry asked with laughter in his tone, and Sirius shook his head.

“Nothing important,” he replied as he draped an arm around Harry's shoulders and pressed a light kiss to his temple, making Harry's flush even worse. “You're a good man, Harry Potter.”

 

Harry spent the rest of the evening glued at the hip to Sirius, and he found that he didn't mind it nearly as much as he would have even a week earlier. In fact, Harry found himself hardly even thinking about anything important, and merely enjoyed himself. Hermione and Andromeda, as their chaperones, were still always close by, which Ron didn't seem overly pleased about as he tried more than once to get Hermione to sneak off with him.

The last order of business was a serious talk with Bill about what Victoire had apparently said, and he was quick to apologize profusely to not just Harry, but to Teddy as well. Harry was relieved—he didn't want Teddy to ever think that Harry would cut him out of his life.

 

At the end of the night, Harry was rather surprised at how reluctant he was to leave.

“So, er, the Negotiations thing is next, right?” Harry asked as he stood with Sirius just outside of the Burrow, and their fingers intertwined together almost without thought given to the action.

“Yes, that's the next step,” Sirius replied with a nod, while his thumb brushed lightly over the back of Harry's hand. “There's usually a break of two weeks between this event and the beginning of the negotiations though.”

“Er, will I see you before then?” Harry asked, then realized how that may be interpreted, and he felt himself go red.

“Do you _want_ to see me before then?”

“I—er...um, that is...” Harry stuttered, while with a short laugh Sirius leant in, silencing his stammering with a gentle kiss.

“Don't be embarrassed, Harry,” Sirius murmured, “if you want to, then I will happily oblige you. If you don't, then that's all right too.” Sirius kissed him one last time before he finally pulled back. “Think about it. Either way, there's no pressure.”

After offering Harry one last smile, he took a step back and Disapparated, leaving Harry alone in the garden with Hermione, Andromeda having taken a Portkey back with Teddy much earlier.

“Wow,” Hermione breathed as she stepped up to him, a look of awe in her eyes.

“Wow what?” Harry asked as he turned to cock an eyebrow at her.

“You have that man wrapped around your little finger,” she said, raising her own eyebrows as though to say that that was obvious.

“I do?” Harry blinked, and Hermione shook her head a little in disbelief at him.

“Harry, if you asked him for the moon, he'd find some way to give it to you,” she said simply. “Sirius is completely besotted with you. Don't _tell_ me that you haven't noticed.”

“I...” Harry trailed off as Hermione's words began to sink in. Was Sirius really in love with him, or was he, like Harry, simply making the best of a bad situation? He could not deny that the few kisses they'd shared that day felt somehow more intense and enthralling that the ones preceding it, but did it really mean what Hermione was telling him, did Sirius _love_ him?

His eyes dropped to the ring on his finger.

 _If Sirius really is in love with me,_ Harry thought, _I hope I can learn to love him back._

 


	8. Over The Edge

Chapter Eight – Over The Edge

 

**12 th October, 2004**

“Uncle Harry, watch me!” Teddy cried as he stood at the top of the metal slide.

“I am watching!”

“No you're not, you're looking at Sirius!” he called back, and Harry felt his face colour a little. Busted.

Next to him, Sirius chuckled and wrapped an arm around Harry's shoulders as he also turned his attention to Teddy. He shifted his weight on the park bench, just enough to cause their knees to brush together, though Harry genuinely could not tell whether or not the touch was deliberate.

“We're _both_ watching now, Teddy!” Sirius called, “go on!”

Grinning broadly, Teddy sat down and shot down the slide, where he promptly crashed into the sand castle he'd erected at the base of it. The castle seemed to explode when Teddy made contact with it, sending sand positively everywhere.

Both Harry and Sirius applauded and cheered Teddy's display as the little boy promptly got up and rushed over to them, a huge grin painted across his face. To Harry's surprise, Teddy grabbed Sirius's hand and started pulling on him.

“Can you please push me on the shwing?” He asked, though despite the politeness of the request, he was still tugging insistently on Sirius's hand.

“Don't you want Harry to push you?” Sirius asked with a laugh as he got up.

“Uh-uh,” Teddy replied with a short shake of his head. “You're bigger, so you're better at it!”

Sirius looked back at Harry with a small smile, then with a helpless shrug he allowed the boy to half-drag him from the bench and to the swing set.

“It looks like _someone's_ having fun,” Hermione observed as she joined him, her eyes straying to Andromeda, who had followed the pair to the swing set, and was shouting at Sirius to be careful.

Neither Sirius nor Teddy seemed to be listening to her, as the boy shrieked with delight with every push and called out, “higher!” to which Sirius would immediately oblige and pushed him harder. Harry felt as though it was a wonder that he hadn't swung around the top bar yet, given how high he was going.

“Yeah, I think Teddy's trying to make up for lost time with his antics today,” Harry remarked, and laughed a little when Hermione swatted him lightly on the shoulder.

“I meant _you_ , you prat,” she said with a laugh. “I haven't seen you smile like that in a while.”

“Yeah, I haven't felt this good for...since before my birthday,” Harry replied, his voice trailing off to a mumble as his gaze dropped from his godfather and godson to the ring on his hand, and fiddled with it idly. So much had changed in such a short span of time, and all too soon, it would change even more. In some ways, it felt as though Harry's mind had yet to completely process everything that had happened, but as time went on, he felt himself becoming less and less nervous about the upcoming wedding.

“The negotiations are the last formality before the wedding,” Hermione said consolingly, “and you have six months to actually _get_ married, so it's plenty of time to...er, prepare yourself.” Harry winced, and she smiled apologetically. “Sorry, bad phrasing.”

“No kidding,” Harry muttered as he lifted his gaze up once more. It amazed him how with a few words his good mood could be so completely burned out of him. Despite how he felt less and less nervous about the wedding itself, the same could not be said for the actual consummation. “I dunno Hermione,” he said with a heavy sigh, “I mean, things have been good—better than good. I can't say that I'm happy, exactly, just...”

“...content?”

“Yeah, content,” Harry agreed with a faint smile, “I just...Sirius has kept his promises, he's downright spoiled me, as far as I'm concerned, but then I remember what has to happen at some point over the next six months, and I freak out again.”

“I'm sure Sirius will...ah, make it good?” Hermione asked, flushing a deep scarlet at her own words. “I mean, I can't really see him taking advantage of you or anything. The way he looks at you now...” she trailed off with a faint smile, and Harry smiled sheepishly. Though she had claimed that Sirius was completely in love with him, Harry still had a hard time believing it.

“I know,” Harry muttered as he reclined against the pack bench and turned his gaze to Sirius and Teddy. “I trust him and everything, and...I mean, things have been going well, but then out of nowhere I remember that he's my godfather, was my dad's best mate, and then that _wrongness_ comes back to me.”

“You're going to have to let it go, Harry,” Hermione said softly as she reached out to take one of his hands, and squeezed it gently. “If you don't, you'll be miserable.”

“I know,” Harry replied with a heavy sigh, “it's just...hard.”

 

At the end of the afternoon, Harry was almost knocked over by Teddy as he hugged him goodbye.

“Thanks, Uncle Harry, I wish we could do this _every_ day!” he said, and Harry laughed a little.

“If we did this every day, wouldn't you get bored of it after a while?” Harry asked, and Teddy shook his head at once.

“No way, this was so fun!” he gushed, and Harry laughed again.

“Well...we'll see, all right?” he said, and the little boy's face instantly broke into a wide smile as he nodded, then went over to take Andromeda's hand.

Almost at once Sirius took Teddy's place, and Harry felt his heart stutter at the close proximity of the older man. He took one of Harry's hands in his own, and the other moved to rest lightly against the side of Harry's throat. His thumb brushed lightly over Harry's pulse point, eliciting a small shiver from him, and his breath hitched as Sirius leant in to kiss him lightly.

“See you soon, yeah?” he murmured, and Harry nodded. He could feel the heat radiating off his face, and passion behind the kiss seemed to have stolen his voice—Harry was certain that if he'd tried to speak, it would have come out as little more than a high squeak. Sirius smiled, and kissed him once more before he joined Andromeda, and the trio disappeared in a flash of blue Portkey light.

“You didn't look like you hated that,” Hermione commented, and Harry frowned, his warm flush shifting instantly to one of embarrassment. Hermione seemed to catch her mistake at once, and the amusement in her expression disappeared at once. “Oh Harry, I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that, I just—”

“—no, it's okay, Hermione,” Harry said as he forced a small smile, “it's just...complicated. C'mon, let's get out of here.”

Hermione looked like she wanted to offer up more apologies, but nodded meekly and they both Disapparated—Hermione to the Burrow, and Harry to his flat.

 

**22 nd October, 2004**

Harry woke the morning he was due to begin the marital negotiations with a knot in his stomach. He felt as though after weeks of this nervous feeling following him around like a bad odour he'd be used to it by now; but if anything, as the end of the courtship's proceedings drew closer, his nerves got worse, instead of better.

He ate and dressed in a haze while he tried to remember everything that Hermione had told him about the negotiations, though instead of reassuring him, the memories of that discussion made him feel even more uneasy about what was to come.

 

“ _It's sort of a baseline to cover what your life will be like after you two get married,” Hermione had explained over tea and biscuits a week earlier. She pointedly ignored Harry's grimace at the word, '_ married _' as she pressed on, “when these courtships were still common practice, there were times when the Suitor's personality would change drastically the moment they were married, and the Intended would be stuck with someone abusive, and with no way out. The negotiations are sort of a way to avoid that happening—so if the Suitor breaks any of the agreements, the marriage will be nullified, and the Intended can leave.”_

“ _Somehow, that doesn't exactly make me feel any better,” Harry muttered, staring down sullenly at the tabletop. “Will you and Andromeda still be there?”_

“ _Yes—not really to protect your 'virtue', so much as to make sure the Suitor doesn't try to get you to agree to something wildly inappropriate.”_

“ _Wildly inappropriate...like what?” Harry asked, but the sudden flush of her face was answer enough._

“ _Oh, you know...like, sex every day, or you have to walk around the house naked, or you have to produce a child every year...things like that.”_

“ _Forget I asked,” Harry said with a soft groan, and he buried his face into his hands._

 

Her near-constant reassurances didn't make Harry feel any better. They were finally at the juncture Harry had been dreading, where they had to _discuss_ their marital future. Imagining what would be expected of him had been bad enough, but talking about it made Harry feel infinitely worse.

 

An hour later, Harry watched from his favourite armchair where he had been lounging, staring blankly up at the ceiling as Hermione tumbled out of his fireplace. She was dressed in normal muggle garb, and she offered him a reassuring smile as she stood up to dust herself off, but Harry found himself unable to return the gesture.

“You ready?”

“No,” Harry answered at once as he pulled himself off the armchair and followed her to the front door. “Let's just get this over with.”

Hermione looked for a moment as though she was going to respond with some sort of reprimand for his tone and attitude, but at the last minute she seemed to change her mind. She offered Harry a small, reassuring smile, then took his hand and led him out the door.

“So, where are we meeting them?” Harry asked conversationally as they made their way to the nearby Apparition spot, “Sirius's flat?”

“No, it needs to be neutral territory, so we're meeting them at the Burrow. Oh, don't worry,” Hermione added, presumably spotting the reluctant look in his eye, “Molly and Arthur won't be around, it'll be just the four of us in the parlour—no audience, I promise.”

“No audience,” Harry echoed, but even this promise did not help to bolster his spirits.

 

As Hermione had promised, when they stepped inside the Burrow it was completely silent. It was more than a little strange for Harry, especially given that almost every time he'd been there it was full to bursting with people and noise, and the silence seemed almost deafening to him.

“Sirius?” Hermione called, and Harry winced. Her voice sounded especially loud in the quiet house. “Andromeda?”

“In here!”

Andromeda's muffled voice sounded from the parlour, and Harry swallowed his nervousness behind a neutral mask as he and Hermione turned to follow her voice.

Inside, Sirius and Andromeda were seated upon the settee with a carafe of some kind of amber liquor on the table between them. Next to it was an official-looking scroll of parchment that rested flat upon the tabletop, with a small red quill next to it.

As they stepped inside Sirius met Harry's gaze and offered him a small, warm smile, and under the stare Harry felt his face flush crimson. He followed Hermione's lead over to the pair; Andromeda got up as they approached to take one of the armchairs opposite, clearly hinting that Harry should sit next to Sirius.

Harry sat down, and immediately Sirius laid a hand on his knee, offering it a small squeeze of reassurance. Andromeda pointedly cleared her throat, and Sirius quickly removed it.

“So today we're supposed to sort of write a guideline to our life together,” Sirius began, acting as though Hermione and Andromeda were invisible and focused his attention solely on Harry. “It's not as rigid as a magical contract, and allows for some wiggle room, but it's done to keep the Suitor from taking advantage of their Intended.”

“Yeah, I got that bit,” Harry replied, striving to keep his tone neutral, though there was still a faint tremor in his voice. “Er, Hermione explained it all...multiple times.”

Even from the three to four-foot distance, Harry could hear Hermione _tsk_ of annoyance, and he bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing, a reaction he was certain was born of his nervousness, and not any actual amusement. When he caught Sirius's eye again, it seemed as though he was doing the same thing.

“All right then, let's get this over with, yeah?”

The phrasing more than anything else told Harry that Sirius was still sorry that this whole mess had happened, and that reassurance aided Harry in returning his faint smile with a small nod of agreement.

Sirius turned to the table and picked up the small quill. In a move unnervingly reminiscent of Rita Skeeter he sucked on the quill tip, then offered it to Harry. He took it, uncertain what Sirius wanted him to do with it, but at the man's encouraging nod he got the hint, and sucked on the tip too in a strange, almost indirect kiss. He handed the quill back to Sirius, and he balanced it on the parchment upon its tip, and at once it began to scribble across it of its own accord. When it jerked to a stop, Harry looked down to see the words, _Living Arrangements_ written down neatly on the left hand side.

“So, I suppose the first order of business is deciding where we should live,” Sirius said, clearly aiming for nonchalance, but his voice carried an awkward note to it. He reached for the carafe and poured a generous measure of liquor for each of them, and pressed one of the crystal glasses into Harry's hand before he continued. “You could move into my flat, if you want, or I into yours...or we could go somewhere else.”

“Somewhere else like where?” Harry asked, and took a small sip of his drink, and recognized it at once as Arthur's good fairy-distilled brandy.

“Wherever you like,” Sirius replied with a faint smile. “We could look at flats in London, or we could look for a house somewhere—Hogsmeade, the Cotswolds, Glasgow...it's up to you.”

“It hardly seems fair that I get to pick were we live,” Harry commented, and struggled to ignore the way his insides squirmed uncomfortably at his words. “But...I like the idea of a house, though not in Surrey.” Harry grinned when Sirius laughed out loud.

“Fair enough, we'll talk about it later.” At Sirius's words, Harry's eyes dropped to the parchment, and he watched the quill zip across it as it wrote a short sentence:

 

_ Living Arrangements _

_House, location TBD._

 

“Okay, the next thing would be things like in-home responsibilities and living arrangements,” Sirius continued, “I think it'd only be fair that we share in the cooking and clearing up and things, unless you want to get a house el—” Sirius broke off abruptly, though Harry didn't need to ask why. He could also feel the icy glare that Hermione was shooting at Sirius for daring to suggest such a thing.

“I think sharing the chores would be best,” Harry said quickly in an effort to keep Hermione from interrupting the proceedings. “How d'you mean living arrangements? Like which room will be the office and which will be the den or something?”

“Erm, not exactly,” Sirius replied, though his tone had taken on an apprehensive edge to it. “It means more...” he paused, clearly trying to think of how to answer the question, and his hesitancy was making Harry nervous. “You see, Harry, back when these rites were more common, it was a time when it was believed that the Intended stayed at home with the children, and the Suitor earned the family income. This point discusses whether you want to be an at-home dad, or if you want to work as well.”

Harry opened his mouth angrily, intent on protesting the idea of being a housewife—or house _husband_ as the case may be—but at the same time, it wasn't as though he had a lot of job prospects to begin with, considering he'd spent the better part of the last six and a half years living off his inheritance.

“I don't really relish the idea of being at home all the time,” Harry began awkwardly, “I think I'd go mental if I had to do that, but, I don't really know what I want to do with my life, either...”

“You don't need to decide right this second,” Sirius replied consolingly, “I can easily move my business to home if you'd rather work in an office—I can repair motorbikes out of a home garage as easily as at a shop—but don't feel obligated to stay at home if you really don't want to, Harry.”

“Yeah, okay,” Harry agreed, and Sirius reached for his hand. He accepted it readily, and their fingers twined together almost at once.

 

They continued, and gradually the parchment began to fill up. It amazed Harry how they needed to go over everything from when to go to the market to who does the laundry, and most of the points were easy enough to discuss and answer—both Harry and Sirius agreed to share the various household tasks—but when they reached the second-to-last point, they stuttered to a stop.

 

_Sexual Conduct_

 

Harry looked up from the parchment to Sirius, and was relieved to see that he looked as reluctant to discuss it as Harry did. After nearly a full minute of silence, Hermione cleared her throat, and the sudden sound seemed to snap Sirius out of his daze.

“At first, the magic of the bloodline curse will monitor our sexual conduct...to a point,” Sirius said, but did not meet Harry's eye as he spoke, “after the consummation, we'll need to have sex at least every fortnight or so to keep the bloodline magic in check.”

“For how long?” Harry asked, and winced when his voice escaped him as little more than a weak whisper. He cleared his throat and tried again. “I mean, do we have to follow some sort of...I dunno, schedule for the rest of our lives?” Harry shifted uncomfortably in his seat as he spoke. Imagining sex with his godfather _once_ had been nerve-wracking enough, but twice a month was more than he had expected.

“Until we produce a child, and then the bloodline magic will consider the oath fulfilled, and everything will more or less go back to normal.” Sirius paused, and reached his free hand up to rake it through his hair as he pushed forward before Harry could react to his last statement. “In this section, it also covers our sexual fidelity. I know this isn't ideal for you, so we can leave it open if you'd rather pursue—”

“—no,” Harry interrupted, and frowned at Sirius's look of complete shock—did he seriously think that Harry would cheat on him at the first opportunity? “I don't want to go into this as some sort of... _sham marriage_. If we're to be married I want...” Harry trailed off when he felt the now-familiar flush rise in his cheeks. He clenched his hands into fists in his lap, and he chewed on the edge of his lip thoughtfully. “If we have to do this, I want it to feel real...to _be_ real.”

“Harry, are you so sure about that?” Sirius asked, the look of concern in his eyes becoming more pronounced as he stared at Harry, though he also looked shocked, as though Harry's choice was the last thing he'd expected to hear. “Because I know you didn't want this, I don't want to trap you by this...this... _thing_.”

Harry understood the concern, and he appreciated the way that Sirius had selflessly put Harry's desires above his own; especially when it was quite clear that Sirius's feelings for him had grown and changed drastically over the course of the courtship. Sirius loved him, but not in the same way that he had before. Harry knew that he couldn't reciprocate that love, and he wasn't sure if he ever could.

Nevertheless, the idea of going into a marriage with someone, and raising _children_ with that someone, all while seeking out sexual encounters with other people didn't seem right to him. Harry looked up to meet Sirius's eyes and leant up to kiss him gently, barely the faintest brush of lips. Harry could feel Sirius's breath hitch in shock at his bold move.

“I'm sure.”

The quill wrote it down, and the final point of the negotiations was immediately added just below it:

 

_Heirs._

 

“Technically, either of us could undergo the procedure,” Sirius said, his face a little flushed, and Harry could see a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, what Harry assumed to be a byproduct of the unexpected kiss he had given him, and not the topic they now had to discuss. “It's not restricted to the Intended _having_ to do it, but I think it this case it might be best if you do. You're younger, and so it will be less risky for you compared to me...” Sirius trailed off as he withdrew a leaflet from the inside pocket of his blazer that read, _Everything You Wanted To Know About Male Pregnancy But Were Afraid To Ask._ “It's still considered a risky procedure, but less so because you're younger and healthy, and you'll be indisposed for at least two years...”

“Hang on,” Harry interrupted as he mechanically accepted the leaflet from Sirius, albeit reluctantly. “ _Two_ years? I figured it'd be the same as a normal baby...you know, nine months?”

“It takes two years because it takes some time for you to grow the necessary...er, _attributes_ to carry a child to term, and be able to nourish it after it's born.”

“ _Nourish?_ ” Harry asked, his eyes wide and his voice escaping him as little more than a mildly horrified whisper, “you don't mean...” His gaze dropped down to the leaflet in his hand. The glossy cover displayed a number of gay couples—with men sporting full, feminine breasts, both hanging freely and supported by lacy or simple cotton bras. Harry felt the bottom drop out of his stomach as he dropped the leaflet.

“I...Sirius, I...you _can't_ ask me to—to... _turn into a girl_ for two years!! I can't do that, I—”

“You _won't_ be a girl, Harry,” Sirius said gently, but firmly. “All the effects are temporary, and it will leave no lasting damage on your body—”

“—but you're still asking me to...to _grow breasts and pop out a fucking kid!_ ” Harry burst out as he jumped up and began to pace and he raked his fingers through his hair in his panic.

“I'm _not_ asking you to do anything, Harry!” Sirius shot back as he jumped up and grabbed hold of Harry's shoulders, stopping his pacing and forcing Harry to look up at the older man. “It's our damn ancestors and the bloodline magic that is demanding this, _not_ me. If I had my way, _none_ of this would be happening, but we're both stuck, and we need to make the best of it—”

“— _we!_ ” Harry cut in, his voice now carrying a slightly hysterical note, “all you need to do is knock me up, you're asking me to go through hell for two fucking years for this, I...Sirius, I...no. I can't. I _can't_ do this. I...I need to go.” Without another word, Harry wrenched himself out of Sirius's hold, and hurried towards the door.

“Harry, _wait!_ ”

Harry ignored to call.

It was too much—far too much. Harry felt as though his mind was on the edge of collapse, and as he heard Sirius (and by extension, likely Hermione and Andromeda too) chase after him, Harry cast one final look back at the Burrow as he cleared its gates, caught Sirius's gaze, his concerned and horrified expression plain upon his face before Harry willed himself away.

Away from Sirius.

Away from the demands of the courtship.

Away from _everything._

 


	9. Hearth and Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I just want to give a shoutout to the tsunami of comments I got from you guys on the previous chapter. I had no idea how that cliffy would be received, and so I was really glad that you guys liked it so much. I hope I continue to live up to your expectations with today's instalment, and I'll see you guys on Thursday! :)

Chapter Nine – Hearth and Home

 

**6 th November, 2004**

 

The tapping of an owl's beak had become such a frequent sound in Harry's flat that he'd become rather good at tuning it out. After a fortnight of it, that was to be expected, after all.

In that time, Harry had not left his flat. He had not spoken to anyone, and warded his flat against a certain well-meaning, bushy-haired friend of his to keep her from bursting in and grabbing him by the ear again. He turned away every owl, even when he was fairly certain that they _weren't_ from Sirius, and was quite content to wallow in what was being asked of him, despair over it, and decidedly _not_ deal with it.

Of course, Harry should have remembered that sooner or later, all good things must come to an end.

 

Around noon, after Harry had completed his morning ritual of ignore-the-owl and drink strong black coffee, a loud banging sounded from his door.

“ _Harry James Potter, you open this door right now!”_ Hermione's shrill yells sounded from the other side, and Harry winced at the sound of it.

“Go away, Hermione!” Harry called back, his voice cracking from lack of use, “leave me alone!”

“ _I am not leaving until you open this door!_ ” she screamed in reply, “ _you're twenty-five for God's sake, not five!_ ”

“If I want to wallow in this shitty excuse for a life, that's my damn business!” he yelled, “ _go away!_ ”

Harry heard her mutter something, though after a moment Harry guessed it had to be ' _oh this is ridiculous_ ,' or something to that effect. He listened apprehensively to her mutter under her breath for several minutes before Harry heard her cry, “ _Reducto!_ ” and his front door was promptly blasted open, splintering both his wards and the wood in the process.

“Hermione!” Harry squawked indignantly as he jumped up and she stomped over the threshold, and he felt all the colour drain from his face, because she was not alone.

Trailing behind Hermione, a guilty, uncertain look in his eyes, was Sirius.

Given that Harry was in his dressing gown and little else, his frightened pallor shifted quickly to embarrassment as he pulled the article of clothing more tightly around himself. Sirius was frowning at him, his expression caught between concern and relief, but even so, Harry did not miss the quick flick his eyes made to the thin line of his exposed chest.

“I'm going to get dressed,” he muttered, and quickly rushed out of the room.

 

~*~

 

Harry took as much time as he dared getting dressed—it took less than thirty seconds to fish out some clean jeans and a T-shirt from the mountain of clean clothes he'd piled on his desk chair, and he did everything he could to slow down the process. After fifteen minutes, Harry could hear the edge of irritation in Hermione's voice mount as she spoke to Sirius, and in favour of _not_ getting dragged out of his bedroom again by Hermione holding onto his ear, he shuffled back into the sitting room.

The sight of Sirius made Harry's stomach turn over most unpleasantly, though he tried to not let it show on his face—he didn't want to make Sirius feel any worse. If the stricken look upon his face was any indication, Harry was sure that he had failed quite spectacularly. Sirius moved as though to stand and approach him, but paused at the last moment, his movements freezing as though he was afraid of scaring Harry off if he made the wrong move. Thankfully, Hermione came to the rescue before the situation was able to get any more awkward.

“Come sit down, Harry,” she said in a gentle, nonthreatening tone, and Harry stepped towards them with stiff, awkward movements.

Harry sat next to Sirius on the sofa, but the older man made no move to approach him. Harry was a little confused by this attitude, but was unable to comment on it as at that same moment Hermione began to speak.

“So, Harry,” she began awkwardly, “I think you may have gotten a little overwhelmed at the negotiations...about what is expected of you, I mean.” Harry snorted; _a little_ was a bit of an understatement.

“Harry,” Sirius said gently, almost timidly, and Harry turned to face the older man as Sirius covered one of Harry's hands with both of his. After such a long stretch of time with no physical contact of any kind the sudden touch made him flinch, but Sirius didn't let him go. His gaze hardened as he continued to speak. “You have to understand that it's not _me_ asking you to do any of this. If I had my way, _none_ of this would have happened. I don't want to tie you down, or put you through that procedure any more than you want to do it. It's our ancestors forcing this on us, and one way or another...it'll have to be done.”

“If you want Sirius to do it instead of you that _is_ an option,” Hermione said in a similar, gentle tone, almost like she and Sirius were talking to a spooked deer, and not a person. “But...because of his age, it could be very dangerous. You're a lot younger than him, and you're less likely to suffer any life-threatening complications because of it. None of this is permanent, Harry, you have to do it at least once, and then the curse will settle, and you'll be able to go back to having some kind of a normal life.”

_With a child and a husband,_ Harry thought, but the sour tone in his mind kept him from spitting out the words verbally. He didn't hate the idea of being with Sirius, at least, not how he used to, and he could see that Sirius already felt horribly guilty about everything, and Harry didn't want to make him feel any worse.

“It's not that I don't want kids,” Harry hedged, unable to look at Sirius as he continued to speak. “I just...I didn't think that it would be like...like _this._ Hell, I didn't even know _this_ was possible until the courtship-thing started. I just...Two years is a _really_ long time to be...indisposed.” Harry did not mention that the idea of growing certain _parts_ made him feel even more uncomfortable... _emasculated._ How could they expect him to _not_ feel like a girl when he was being asked to grow a pair of...Harry shook his head; thinking about it was making him more anxious, and not less.

“We don't have to do it straightaway Harry,” Sirius said in the same gentle tone, “after the wedding, we'll have five years to complete that requirement of _Potestas_. It's a good chunk of time for you to—er, get used to the idea.”

 

_The wedding._

 

In all the panic over the fact that Sirius had to knock him up, Harry had completely forgotten about it.

“Harry,” Sirius voice snapped Harry out of his daze, and he looked up at his godfather questioningly. “Come here.”

He gently urged Harry forward, and at first, Harry hesitated to comply, not completely certain what Sirius wanted. After a moment he relented, and Sirius closed the distance between them. His large hands moved to cradle Harry's cheeks, and he leant in to kiss him.

This was not one of the tentative, gentle brushes of lips that they'd shared so far. There was a distinctive heat to it, and Harry felt his breath hitch a little in surprise at the depth of the kiss. He could feel Sirius's mouth twitch into a faint smile against his, and his hands dropped to gently hold onto Harry's hips. The hold did not restrict him, and it was quite clear that if Harry wanted to pull back, he could. Despite the offer, Harry felt almost at though Sirius's kiss had some sort of restorative quality to it, and he felt some of the anxiety that had plagued him for the last fortnight begin to dissolve.

When Sirius slowly pulled away, it left Harry feeling a little dazed. He continued to hold Harry close, and leant forward a little so that their foreheads pressed together, and Sirius gazed into Harry's eyes with a warm smile.

“I'm doing everything that I can to not make you feel pushed into anything,” Sirius murmured so softly that Harry was certain that Hermione wouldn't have been able to hear him. “I know it's a lot to take in, and it isn't exactly ideal, but I promise you...things will work out...we'll be okay.”

Harry dropped his gaze, his face still flushed from the kiss, though he could still feel Sirius's eyes boring into him intently. He moved his hand to rest it over Sirius's at his hip. He turned it almost at once to thread their fingers together. Harry squeezed it lightly.

“I hope so.” He relaxed into the embrace, and felt a small shiver course through him. He knew that Hermione and Sirius probably came here to get him to agree to... _it_. Harry shuddered again; he couldn't even _think_ the word without feeling slightly queasy from fright.

“Why don't we take a break from the negotiations for a little while, hm?” Sirius murmured suddenly, almost as though he was sensing Harry's thoughts. “I know we sort of sprung this on you, and maybe some time to think on it and decide whether you want to do it, or...if you'd rather I do it instead.”

Harry rotated his shoulders to try and get rid of some of the tension there, but it didn't help as much as he hoped that it would. At Sirius's suggestion, Harry felt his shoulders slump a little as he relaxed; more time to think on it wasn't exactly Harry's ideal—it gave him ample time to obsessively fret over it, but it was still better than forcing himself to agree to something he hadn't completely processed, and _really_ didn't want to do. He tightened his hold on Sirius, and Sirius in turn reached up to card a hand through his hair in a comforting gesture. Harry let out a soft sigh, and leant forward to rest his cheek against Sirius's shoulder.

Though neither man spoke, understanding radiated between them without effort.

 

 

**12 th November, 2004**

 

“Harry, we need to talk about something,” Hermione said, her calm, even tone not giving away any hints as to what she wanted to talk about _this_ time, though Harry had a fairly good idea what she wanted to _discuss_. She leant against the door frame to Harry's bathroom and with half his jaw still slathered in shaving cream, he turned to her and arched an eyebrow.

“What about?”

“Sirius.”

“We're _always_ talking about Sirius and this damn courtship,” Harry said grumpily as he turned back to the mirror, “what is is this time?”

“It's how you're treating him, Harry,” she said, her voice laced with hurt. Harry paused again and turned to stare at her. He hadn't the faintest idea what he'd done that was so bad to warrant such a sad look, and with a shake of his head, he quickly turned back to the mirror.

“Just give me one second,” he said and quickly finished shaving, then turned back to her for the third time as he mopped the excess lather off his face. “Now, what are you on about? What d'you mean how I'm treating Sirius? I didn't do anything!”

“ _Exactly_ , Harry,” she said with a frown and crossed her arms, not letting him pass. “Ever since all this started, you've been acting like it's a death sentence or something,” Hermione paused as Harry opened his mouth angrily, but she held up a hand, stopping him short. “Let me finish. Sirius has made every effort to make this easy on you, to not make you feel pushed, or cornered, or anything, and he's done _everything_ he can within the parameters of this courtship to make you happy—and you're still resisting like...like...”

“Well can you _blame_ me, Hermione?” Harry snapped, “no matter what happens, it won't change the fact that Sirius is my godfather. And the fact that he's so...so... _okay_ with this just makes things more confusing! I don't—I don't want to give him the wrong idea.”

“Whatever gave you the idea that Sirius is okay with this?” She asked, her head cocked to the side in confusion.

“You said it yourself, that day at the Burrow. Sirius is in love with me.” Harry felt his face burn, and his stomach squirmed uneasily. “ _Clearly_ he's into it.”

“He's in love with you _now_ , Harry,” Hermione replied, as though that simple explanation cleared everything up. Harry assumed that something in his blank stare gave away his confusion, and she elaborated, thankfully without any comment on his significant lack of observation skills.

“Sirius was horrified when he found out what happened,” Hermione began, looking away from him as she spoke. “He felt like it was almost criminal, and he felt like agreeing to it would make him a child molester. But Harry, if Sirius had refused to go through with it, or if you had, both of you would have lost your magic completely.

“There wasn't a way out of this that any of us knew of, and for the fist twenty-four hours or so Sirius wasn't exactly what you would call _helpful._ He seemed much more interested in drowning his worries in a bottle of Ogden's than confront the fact that his and your bloodline magics were forcing you two to marry one another. Andromeda told me an abridged version of her talks with Sirius, and they were pretty much the same ones I gave you.”

“Suck it up and deal with it because there's no way out?” Harry offered, and she laughed a little.

“Something like that. Ever since, Sirius has been doing everything he can to ease you into this, make you feel comfortable, make sure that you know that you can trust him. But Harry, you're not offering Sirius the same courtesy. He knows that you wouldn't choose this. Harry, he _knows_ that. But constantly acting like you're set to wed...Umbridge or someone—” Hermione broke off and they both shuddered at the mental image, “I just mean, what harm would it do to reciprocate, even a little?”

Harry looked at Hermione, frowning a little. She was right, as always, and he knew that he was only making himself (and Sirius) miserable with his attitude. It was difficult to shake off the sheer wrongness of the entire situation and how deeply he _didn't_ want to admit that his pull to his godfather was definitely no longer completely platonic, but it wasn't what he'd call _romantic feelings_ , either.

That in itself scared him, and though he knew that he had to let go and start seeing Sirius in a very different light, it wasn't as simple as blowing out a candle. He felt caught between the gnawing, persistent fact that clung to the back of his thoughts at all times, reminding him repeatedly that no matter what, Sirius was and always would be his godfather, and the fact that now when Sirius held him, or kissed him, or even _smiled_ at him, there was a warm tingle that rushed through him that hadn't been there before. He couldn't call it romantic love, but it certainly was _something_.

“All right,” Harry replied at last with a heavy sigh, “I'll—I'll _try_.”

“That's all I ask,” Hermione said with a kind smile, a note of relief in her gaze. “Now, come on, they're waiting for us.”

“House shopping, _lovely_.” Harry bit back any more complaints when Hermione glared at him, and grudgingly followed her out of the flat.

 

~*~

 

After they met Sirius and Andromeda outside Sirius's flat where they were waiting with the Realtor, Sirius was quick to take Harry by the hand and give it a small squeeze. The light contact made Harry's heart flutter, as did the concerned, but warm smile that Sirius greeted him with.

“All right?” he asked, his hand slipping out of Harry's to slide up his arm and drape it over his shoulders, and gave him a small squeeze. Even with a jumper on, Harry could feel his skin break out into gooseflesh at the light touch.

“Fine,” he replied, but winced when his voice escaped him as little more than a squeak. “I'm okay, really,” he added when Sirius looked as though he didn't believe him, “just a little exhausted, it's been a chaotic few months.”

“Yeah, _that_ would be putting it mildly,” Sirius replied with a snort. At that moment, the Realtor appeared, and moved to Hermione and Andromeda, greeting them kindly, and offering Harry and Sirius a small nod, indicating that it was time to go. “C'mon, let's get this over with.”

Breaking out into his first genuine smile all day, Harry gripped Sirius as he pulled him by Side-Along Apparition.

 

 

Harry had expected House Hunting to be terribly dull, but in reality it turned out to be quite the opposite. With each new place that they visited, Harry was repeatedly reminded that whatever house they chose, it wouldn't simply be a house. It would be a home for them— _together._

That random thought popped into Harry's head so often that by the fourth viewing, he already felt exhausted. Sirius seemed to sense this as he wrapped an arm around Harry and offered him a gentle squeeze as they stepped out of the modest two-storey Suffolk house.

“Just one more for today,” Sirius said consolingly, “then we can crash.”

With a grateful smile, they Disapparated for the sixth time, and reappeared in Hogsmeade.

Hermione and Andromeda appeared a moment later while Harry looked around to get his bearings. The Realtor, who had accompanied them to each previous house, was nowhere to be seen. They stood along the line of cottages Harry remembered from when he performed the Rite of Acceptance, but along with the witch, he couldn't see any _for sale_ signs, either.

“Come on,” Sirius said gently as he slipped his hand over Harry's, “it's not much farther.”

With Hermione and Andromeda trailing behind them, Sirius led Harry along the line of houses, past the Courtship Tree, and when they were almost at the very edge of the village where it gave way to craggy mountain, Sirius turned and led Harry up a narrow, winding path into the forest. It had been paved into an attractive walkway, made of a number of flat stones in various sizes, which led up to a little cottage. It wasn't deep into the wood, but far enough that they had plenty of privacy from potentially nosy neighbours.

The cottage itself was made of grey cobbled stone with a slate roof, the front door was some sort of sturdy, polished wood, and the perimeter of the little house was surrounded by flower gardens. Harry recognized a few of the blooms from his Herbology lessons—Trout Lilies, Trilliums, Spring Beauties—but the rest were completely unknown to him. What shocked him most of all was the way his breath caught and his heart beat a little harder in his chest at the sight of the house, and this time, he knew for a fact that it was not out of nerves.

At that same moment, the Realtor stepped outside, smiling at them both warmly. One thing Harry really liked about her was the fact that she carried no judgment in her eyes in relation to their slightly unconventional relationship, and had treated them as she would anyone else, which Harry greatly appreciated. Sirius took the lead as they stepped the rest of the way up to the door, and she offered them another smile.

“Mr Black, Mr Potter,” she greeted, as though she hadn't seen them in ages, though in reality it couldn't have been more than twenty minutes, “come inside, I have a feeling you'll like this one.” Her eyes shifted to Harry as she spoke, and he felt his neck grow a little warm under her gaze.

She stepped back into the cottage and held the door for Sirius and Harry. They stepped inside, and Sirius dropped Harry's hand as he stepped farther inside, enraptured with what he was seeing.

In some ways, it was much like every other house they had seen that day—empty rooms, extinguished fireplaces and gas lamps, but something about this one _spoke_ to Harry.

The front door opened to a cozy sitting room with a fireplace built out of similar cobblestones to the outside, and inside the walls had been lined with wooden panelling a shade darker than the hardwood under his feet. From their standpoint Harry could see an open-concept dining area next to an entryway that led to a small kitchen, while the other seemed to lead to some sort of hallway.

As if in a trance, Harry stepped over to the kitchen first. The countertops were made of granite, the cupboards of some sort of pale wood, and the single window above the wash basin looked out onto the back garden, of which half was taken up by intricate garden patches of fruits and vegetables, as well as an old pear tree. Squeezed in next to the oven was the back door, and Harry opened it tentatively to find a simple porch, where an ancient, rickety wooden rocking chair still sat.

Harry closed the door and backed out of the kitchen, then made for the hallway he had seen. It contained three empty rooms and a lavatory, every single one of the bedrooms containing large windows that enabled so much sun to pour in that it was almost as though they were lit by electric lights.

When Harry finally stepped back into the sitting room, he found Sirius leaning casually against the wall next to the front door, arms crossed, and a self-satisfied smirk was tugging at the corner of his mouth.

_That bastard,_ Harry thought with a faint grin of his own, _he knew that I'd fall in love with this one all along._

Struggling to not overthink his following action, Harry strode forward brazenly, wrapped his arms around Sirius's neck, and pulled him in for a hard kiss.

At first, Sirius froze, shocked by the sudden show of affection, but relaxed into it almost at once. He wrapped his arms around Harry's waist to pull him closer, and Harry shivered a little as their bodies pressed together.

Hermione cleared her throat pointedly, but the pair ignored her, the kiss slowly beginning to deepen, and it was only when Andromeda said, “ _Sirius_ ,” in a warning tone that they parted. Harry was smiling sheepishly, his face very red, and Sirius was grinning broadly. The older man turned his attention to the Realtor, whose smile seemed to have become rather fixed.

“We'll take it,” he said with his arms still looped around Harry.

 

~*~

 

An hour later, Harry tumbled out of his fireplace with Hermione following suit not thirty seconds later.

“Well, _that_ was certainly an improvement,” she remarked as she stood up and brushed herself off.

“Yeah, I know signing a deed with my handwriting how it is these days—”

“—that is _not_ what I meant and you know it, Harry,” Hermione interrupted with a laugh, “I mean your reaction to that last house, which, by the way, is very nice. I'm sure you'll be happy there.”

“Yeah, it's nice,” Harry said with a wistful tone, though he wasn't completely certain whether he meant the house or the kiss.

“So...” Hermione said as she wandered over to his kitchen, still smiling at him approvingly, “think you're ready to get back to the negotiations?”

Harry hesitated; to return to them meant that he had to address the pregnancy thing again, and the mere thought of it still made him feel decidedly sick with fright. At the same time however, he knew that it was both inevitable, and he had a good five years to emotionally prepare himself for it. Even with Sirius's offer to go through it instead of him, the references to the fact that it might be dangerous for Sirius worried him, and in the end, as with so many other times in his life, Harry knew that it would have to be him.

 

 

**20 th November, 2004**

 

Harry felt a strange sense of dèjà vu as he settled down next to Sirius at the Burrow once more.

The negotiations contract sat open before them, completely filled out save for one space near the bottom: _Heirs._

Even seeing the word left Harry with a cold sense of dread in the pit of his stomach.

A warm hand rested over his own, and he looked up at Sirius. His fear must have shown upon his face, as the older man shifted closer so that they were thigh to thigh, and Sirius moved to wrap a secure arm around Harry's waist. Where once the contact would have felt completely alien to him, now Harry welcomed it gladly. He felt grounded by Sirius's presence, and reassured that he genuinely meant it when he had said (repeatedly) that he wouldn't push Harry into anything he didn't feel ready for—as much as he could, at least.

“Let's not set a date for this aspect of it just yet,” Sirius said, “and just agree that within the next five years, when _you_ feel ready, we'll go forward with it.”

“Yeah, that sounds reasonable,” Harry said, his voice shaking a little, “but, um, just one, okay? I—I don't think I'd be able to go through all _that_ more than once.” Harry paused as he chewed the inside of his cheek as he added, “I always wanted a big family but...maybe if later we want more we could adopt or something?” his voice devolved into something close to a squeak, and he winced a little bit at the sound of it.

“'Course,” Sirius replied at once, “but remember that heirs by this standard means a male child,” he grimaced, and offered Harry an apologetic look, “if we have a girl, you'd have go through it again.”

“Gotta love sexist familial curses,” Harry muttered darkly, but he nodded. The quill danced across the page, then paused next to four thick lines along the bottom of the contract.

Sirius and Harry both signed, followed by Hermione and Andromeda, then the contract rolled up on its own, sealed itself with a wax seal bearing the Black family crest, and disappeared.

 


	10. Countdown

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: As the title suggests, this chapter will contain a lot of time jumps. I felt that drawing it out would make the story drag, so I hope no one finds this format too jarring. Please note that there is a sad scene in this chapter that might make you cry. I promise nothing bad happens to our two lovebirds, but I got really choked up while writing this particular scene, so you may not want to read the first 'April' segment in public.

Chapter Ten – Countdown

 

**24 th November, 2004**

 

Harry twirled the fork between his fingers as he stared into space. He heaved a sigh, and was drawn out of his painfully bored daze quite suddenly by Hermione's irritated voice.

“Harry, are you even listening?”

“What?” Harry turned back to the others, and flushed at the three sets of eyes boring into him. Their empty lunch plates had all been pushed to one side, and a stack of wizarding magazines rested in the centre of the table, all earmarked for the furnishings they planned to order for their new house. Harry hadn't quite realized how much planning (and gold) it took to furnish a house. Though Sirius and Hermione seemed to enjoy the process of decorating the new place, Harry found himself incredibly, painfully bored, and found himself carrying the same attention span for the activity that he would for a History of Magic lesson.

“I know this isn't exactly the most thrilling activity for you, could you _try_ and pay attention?” she sniped, “you're not going to be happy if you move in to your new place and all that's there is that rickety old rocking chair—”

“I know, I know, stop nagging,” Harry grumbled and shifted his focus back to the current magazine spread open on the table, which showed a number of glossy photographs of different kinds of beds. Harry squirmed uncomfortably at the sight of it, his mind immediately jumping to what would _happen_ in whichever one they chose in just a few short months. Sirius seemed to sense his unease, and dropped one hand to cover Harry's, offering it a small squeeze. Harry turned his hand under Sirius's so that they could clasp together, and he returned the gesture. He planted his elbow on the table and cradled his chin against the heel of his opposite hand, and listened to Hermione and Sirius debate, while Andromeda threw in the occasional word here and there, and Harry gazed on vacantly. Thankfully beyond an occasional shrug, he wasn't asked for his input. It wasn't like he knew what chair looked best with which rug, anyway.

 

**9 th December, 2004**

 

“So, what do you want for Christmas?” Sirius asked conversationally, his tone teasing as they strolled along the Thames with Hermione and Andromeda not far behind. It was so common for them to be there at that point that Harry hardly paid their presence any mind.

“Nothing,” Harry answered at once, and laughed at the dubious look on Sirius's face. “No, I mean it. You've done enough this year—you've _given_ enough. Plus, it's not like I need anything.”

“Okay then,” Sirius replied, still regarding Harry with a look of disbelief, and Harry had a feeling that no matter his protests, he would still wake Christmas morning with something from Sirius under the tree. The older man shifted topics as they walked, unfortunately to one that Harry _really_ wasn't keen on discussing.

“In the new year, I was thinking we might want to start preparing ourselves for the consummation of the marriage,” Sirius said, and Harry tensed.

“But—but I thought we were supposed to be celibate until...then?” Harry smiled apologetically, unable to form the words, ' _until our wedding_ '. Even after everything that had happened, it was still a bizarre concept to him. Sirius nodded once, but Harry felt his stomach twist guiltily at the faint look of hurt that he saw in Sirius's eye.

“We are,” he replied with a short nod, “but within the parameters of what we _are_ allowed to do, I thought it might be a good idea to get used to being close to each other, so that it's not _too_ awkward.” Sirius paused, but likely Harry's unease showed plainly on his face, as he suddenly added quickly, “we don't _have_ to if you feel you're not ready, but...it was just a thought.”

“Well, what do you call this?” Harry asked, the faintest of grins tugging at the corners of his mouth while he motioned to their joined hands. Sirius offered Harry a wry smile.

“You know what I mean, Harry.”

 

**25 th December, 2004**

 

Harry tumbled out of the Burrow's fireplace, and found himself almost immediately swept into an embrace from Sirius. His head still spinning a little, it was made worse when Sirius drew him into a kiss pulling him so close that he could feel every line of the older man's body through his new, expensive jumper that he was wearing.

“I thought I told you not to get me anything?” Harry queried as Sirius took his hand and led him from the kitchen and to the sitting room. Harry sat next to Hermione, and Sirius rested on his other side, and pressed a glass of wine into Harry's hand before he answered.

“It's Christmas, Harry,” he said simply. “As I recall, it's customary to shower your loved ones with gifts at this time of year, so _one_ gift from me isn't going to kill you.” He leant in a brushed a kiss against Harry's temple, and ran a hand up his arm at the same time as he added in a whisper, “besides, it looks good on you.”

Harry felt himself flush a faint pink, but he was barred from answering as his godson barrelled into the sitting room, and groaned a little as Teddy clambered into his lap. His face still flushed from the howling wind outside, and in his hands he held a small, cylindrical parcel wrapped in bright purple paper.

“Happy Christmas, Uncle Harry!” he said, grinning from ear to ear as Harry laughed and set down his glass of wine to keep from spilling it on the overexcited youngster.

“Happy Christmas, Teddy,” he replied, “you needed to sit on me to say that?”

“No, but I'm cold and you're warm,” he said simply, and Sirius snorted into finger of whisky. His eyes showed the shift in his expression from happy to nervous, and he pressed the gift into Harry's hands, which was so light that Harry thought it might be empty. “I made this for you.”

Curiosity piqued, and hyper-aware of how nervous Teddy seemed to be about it, Harry carefully unwrapped the gift to find a simple scroll of parchment. When he unrolled it, he found himself looking at a wax pastel drawing of three adults and one child standing before a little house surrounded by a sea of green and brown.

“That's me,” Teddy proclaimed, pointing to the purple-haired child, “and that's you,” he pointed to a figure dressed in green and black, with a red smudge near the top of its head that had to be a rendering of his scar, though it was barely visible under the owlishly huge round glasses Teddy had drawn, then moved to the last two figures, one of which was a man with long hair, and the other an older woman. “And that's Gran and Uncle Sirius, and we're all at your new house.”

“How did you know what our new house looks like?” Harry asked with a note of amusement in his voice as he regarded the picture, his heart swelling a little at the sight of it.

“Gran showed me pishers,” Teddy explained proudly, “Gran also said you're s'posed to name your drawings, so it's called My Family.”

At this, Harry's throat grew tight, and out of the corner of his eye he saw Sirius freeze with his glass halfway to his mouth. On his other side, he could see both Hermione and Ron's eyes had gotten a little glassy following the little boy's proclamation. The sentiment of being part of a family, a _real_ family, and not just unceremoniously adopted, like he had been with the Weasleys was something he had—and Harry hadn't even known it. Almost too late he realized that he had been staring at Teddy in open-mouthed shock, drawn less from the picture itself, and more from the implication behind it. Harry quickly drew the little boy into a tight hug.

“Thank you, Teddy,” Harry whispered into his hair, “it's perfect.”

Even without looking, Harry could _feel_ Sirius smiling at him.

 

**11 th January, 2005**

 

Harry stared at his fire grate, rocking on his heels, regarding it as though it had teeth.

_You agreed with Sirius that getting comfortable together was a good idea,_ Harry reminded himself as he stood there, _and if you back out it's not like he'd be_ that _upset..._

The thoughts warred in his mind, caught between both his desire to do it and _not_ do it. He knew they couldn't really _do_ anything that would even resemble something sexual, but the knowledge of what today would inevitably lead to brought a flush unbidden to Harry's face. He shook his head in an effort to calm himself back down, and took a slow breath to steel himself as he he threw a handful of glittering powder into the grate, and jumped into the emerald flames before he could change his mind.

 

“ _Uncle Harry!_ ” Teddy's voice trilled the second Harry tumbled out of the grate, still too disoriented to greet his godson properly.

“Hang on Ted,” Harry heard Sirius say, “let him get his bearings first.”

Harry straightened up and wiped the soot off his glasses with the hem of his jumper, then roughly brushed himself off before he turned to grin at Teddy. The boy's face broke out into a huge smile as he ran at Harry and jumped up for a hug.

“Oof, Teddy,” Harry grunted as he hefted him up with a little difficulty, “you're getting big!”

“Soon I'll be as big as you!” Teddy proclaimed with a grin as Harry set him down, then the boy grabbed his hand in between both of his. “Come on, I want you to make my toys dance!”

“Teddy...” Andromeda's warning tone stopped the tyke short, and he whipped around to look at his grandmother, who was watching the pair from the sitting room entryway with her arms crossed. “I told you that Harry and Sirius have things to talk about, he can't play with you today.”

“Oh, please, Gran?” Teddy whined, “just one long five minutes!”

“No,” Andromeda said firmly. “Victoire will be here soon and you can play with her. Now, let Harry go so that he and Sirius can—” she broke off when Harry flushed a deep scarlet, and pressed her lips into a thin line, though he couldn't tell if she was irritated or amused by his reaction. Teddy, on the other hand, looked as though Andromeda had told him that his birthday had been cancelled. Harry knew by now that though Teddy was usually fairly well-behaved, he was also known for his epic temper tantrums, and sensing danger, Harry crouched down and gave Teddy a quick hug.

“I'll come play with you after Sirius and I are finished, all right? I promise,” he whispered, and the anguish upon the little boy's face dimmed a little, though he still looked disappointed.

“Okay,” he mumbled glumly, and shuffled away as though he'd been scolded.

Harry straightened up as Andromeda led Teddy down the hall to his playroom, his little violet head bowed forward slightly. The sight of it tugged at Harry's heartstrings, and he was so caught up in his guilt over having to turn Teddy away that he did not notice Sirius approach, and therefore nearly jumped out of his skin when he felt a hand suddenly press against his back.

“Did I scare you?” Sirius asked softly, a trace of alarm in his eyes as Harry looked up at him.

“No, no, it's all right,” Harry replied at once with a short shake of his head, “you just startled me a little.” Harry looked away from Sirius and over to the settee, a teapot and two cups set upon on the coffee table in front of it, and once more he remembered why he was here in the first place. He felt himself flush again, and the hand on his back tensed a little.

“You know, Harry, if you don't want to do this, just say so,” Sirius said, clearly sensing Harry's unease, “we still have four months before we need to worry about—”

“—no,” Harry said quickly, cutting him off. “I want to—er, I mean, it's a good idea. I'm nervous enough about _that_ as it is, and getting more comfortable together is a...good idea.” He felt himself flush yet again at his awkward phrasing, and Sirius's hand settled on his hip, a faint, hopeful smile playing across his lips as he began to steer Harry towards the settee.

“Come on, just breathe,” Sirius said gently, the hand at his hip squeezing in gentle reassurance. “Andromeda will be here too, so even if I _was_ less of a gentleman, she'd be nearby to stop me.” Sirius's mouth twitched into a small grin, and Harry couldn't help but laugh at the older man's easy self-confidence, though there was still a nervous edge to his tone. Sirius did not seem personally offended by Harry's attitude, for which he was grateful. Harry was beginning to feel that he had done enough damage in his resistance of everything, and going forward, he didn't want Sirius to feel as though Harry was completely disgusted at the idea of being with him. He wasn't.

At least, not anymore.

Sirius led Harry over to the settee in silence and gently eased him down onto it. He sat down close enough to him that Harry could feel his body heat, though he wasn't physically touching him—yet.

Sirius leant forward to pour the tea, then proceeded to prepare Harry's how he liked it—with an obscene amount of sugar and milk. Harry tried not to laugh at the look of absolute disgust upon Sirius's face as he went to the task, as though he was personally defiling a priceless artifact of some kind. He pressed the teacup into Harry's hands, allowing his fingers to linger just long enough for Harry to shiver a little at the contact.

“Remember, Harry,” Sirius said softly, “we still can't do anything...erm, really intimate at this stage, so just relax.” As he spoke, he began to trail his hand up and down Harry's spine, and shifted a little closer as Harry sipped the drink he'd been handed. He was still balanced precariously between nervous and terrified, but the application of the soothing drink, Sirius's soft, reassuring voice, and the hand at his back were all helping to slowly relax him.

“Whatever happens,” Sirius continued, his voice little more than a soft purr as his hand slid up Harry's spine to squeeze his shoulder, “you don't need to be afraid, Harry. I would never hurt you.”

Sirius's hands on him caused a tremor to run through him, and Harry downed the rest of the tea too quickly, causing his throat to burn a little from the temperature, and he began to cough. A warm flush crept up his neck as he heard Sirius's throaty chuckle, but when he turned his head to respond to him, he found his lips caught in a tender kiss.

Harry was a little startled by the suddenness of it, and he felt the empty china cup being pried from his hand as Sirius shifted closer, one hand cradling his cheek as their outer thighs pressed together, and Harry felt a small thrill rush through him of both desire and fear.

“See?” Sirius murmured, his voice more than a little husky as he pulled back, something close to his old self-confidence shining through as he grinned at Harry, “we'll be fine.”

 

**27 th January, 2005**

 

When Sirius had suggested to Harry that they 'get used to being close to one another', his imagination had run wild with that vague proposition. His thoughts conjured up all manner of deeply sexual encounters that both unnerved and piqued his interest in equal measure.

It didn't matter that Harry logically _knew_ that they weren't allowed to do anything sexual until their marriage, the suggestion had still managed to send Harry into a panicked frenzy. Because of this, whenever he and Sirius got together (with their chaperones not far behind) Harry never knew what to expect—but always wound up pleasantly surprised.

A kiss here, an embrace there, and Harry found himself beginning to dread the consummation less and less. The strangeness of the entire thing never went away, not completely, but it was slowly becoming easier to not obsessively dwell on their past relationship, and focus simply on the future.

 

“What are you thinking about?”

Sirius's voice pulled Harry from his thoughts, and his eyes fell to their joined hands. Harry smiled at the pleasant shiver that ran through him as Sirius brushed his thumb along the back of the appendage, a small show of gentle affection that even a few weeks ago would have sent Harry spiralling into a panic.

“Mostly just how mad the last few months have been,” Harry replied simply, “a lot has changed.”

At his words, Sirius laughed and looked away from him to the scenery of their 'date'. They had returned to the Botanical Gardens, and were sitting near to the café at the back, with a shared slice of unfinished raspberry cheesecake sat between them. Their forks had been discarded haphazardly, and their empty paper teacups were stacked just behind the plate.

“Yeah, that's an understatement,” Sirius replied, still chuckling to himself. “Are you still nervous about...everything?”

Harry knew that he meant the consummation, and given all Sirius had done, not just in the last few weeks, but overall, Harry felt that it might be in bad taste to admit that he was still _very_ nervous about it. His eyes dropped from Sirius to the ring on his finger. He twirled it absentmindedly as he thought over how to best answer the question.

“A little. I mean, it's not going to be just... _you know,_ ” Harry felt himself flush a little, and he struggled to appear nonchalant as he spoke, despite the twisting nervousness in the pit of his stomach. “It'll also be my first time with a bloke and...I heard it can hurt.” Harry winced when his voice dropped to a nervous whisper, and Sirius's hand tensed in his.

“Harry, why didn't you tell me that you were a virgin?” Sirius asked in a harsh whisper. Harry's gaze snapped up in alarm to find Sirius staring at him in open-mouthed horror.

“What does it matter?” Harry asked, pleased that he'd managed to keep the bitterness out of his voice, “I mean, I'm not a _virgin_ -virgin, I've just...never done it with a man.” Harry felt his face flush a deeper shade of crimson as Sirius gazed at him with concern.

“I don't think any less of you for that, if that's what you're worried about,” Sirius began slowly, “I just hate that I'll be the only man you'll ever experience it with. Someone your age should be out experimenting, fooling around, and instead—”

Harry silenced the older man with a kiss. Harry saw Sirius's eyes widen in surprise, then he relax almost at once as he settled into it. When they broke apart Harry stared up at him, a hand reaching up tentatively at first, then when it seemed as though Sirius wasn't going to pull away, Harry lightly brushed his fingers across the edge of his strong jaw. The tickling stubble over the pads of his fingers sent a thrill through him that Harry was certain was _not_ nervousness.

“There's no point in obsessing over it,” Harry said firmly, but softly. “I've spent weeks and _weeks_ agonizing over this, and I don't want you feeling guilty just because I didn't get a chance to lose my virginity before all this started.” Harry paused as he dropped his hand to his lap as he gazed at Sirius, a tendril of nervousness flaring in the pit of his stomach, but he forced himself to continue. “I trust you, Sirius. I'm nervous as hell, but...I trust you.”

Sirius did not seem to know what to say in response, and simply wrapped an arm around Harry, and Harry, in turn, leant into the embrace.

 

**12** **th** **February, 2005**

 

“So, I've been wondering...” Harry began as he toyed with the neck of his butterbeer bottle absentmindedly as he gazed across the table at Sirius. He struggled to ignore the blatant stares of the various Diagon Alley shoppers gave them as they passed through the pub and to the Alley beyond.

“Hm?”

“Well, we're getting m-married in two months, but we haven't done anything to prepare for it,” Harry said softly, despite his embarrassed flush that was creeping up his neck. However, he was more interested in not being overheard more than any shame he may have once carried at the reference to his impending nuptials.

“These kinds of marriages are quite small,” Sirius explained in the same soft tone. He took a sip of his own drink before he continued, clearly conscious of Harry's desire to not be overheard. “Usually it's the parents, chaperones, ministry official, and priest or marriage officiate. These weddings...they were more like business transactions than anything else, so they were never the large, lavish celebrations they are now. I assumed you didn't want to draw a lot of attention to our...erm, _union_ , so I thought you would want it to be small. Did you _want_ a large wedding, Harry?”

“No, no, that's not it,” Harry said quickly, his stomach giving a funny, uneasy jolt at the idea of a huge, lavish wedding like Bill and Fleur's had been. “I was just curious, that's all.”

Sirius nodded once, and under the table he rested his free hand against Harry's knee. He recognized it at once as a show of support and not a sexual advance, and where once it would have deeply unnerved him, now Harry felt calmed by the touch. He smiled at the older man, and Sirius's expression brightened as he returned it.

 

**1 st March, 2005**

 

Harry lounged on his sofa, toying with his engagement ring absentmindedly. He was glad that he'd chosen to cancel with Sirius today on the grounds that he was ill—properly ill, not ill from some magic relating to their upcoming wedding—and it was only after he'd spent the morning bowed over his toilet that he realized that he wasn't ill.

He was _anxious_.

It had been a very long time since he'd been sick out of fear like that, and Harry felt a creeping shame engulf him at that realization. No matter how hard he had tried, the idea of having to tie himself to his _godfather_ for the rest of his life still terrified him.

_I have five weeks to come to grips with it, and I still don't know if I can actually_ do _this..._ Harry sipped his ginger tea as he thought, bundled up in a blanket to stave off the damp cold that had crept into his flat despite the so-called magical insulation that should have kept the space comfortable and warm.

As he sat there, the fire built up high in the grate, the rush of sleet just outside his window, Harry's mind played over everything that had happened over the last few months. He realized quite suddenly that from the moment this had all started, Sirius hadn't once told Harry what _he_ wanted. It had all been about _Harry_.

Harry didn't like the sound of that, even if it was in his own head.

_I know Sirius cares for me,_ Harry thought, _maybe even loves me, but can I be enough for him? Will he actually be happy_ _with_ me _?_

Harry sipped his tea, and no answer to his unspoken question came to him as the sleet continued to fall.

 

**17 th March, 2005**

 

“So, three weeks left,” Sirius said conversationally as he eased back, his gaze focused not on Harry, but on the rolling waves along the edge of the beach. Harry could hear a note of nervousness in his voice, and strangely, it was a soothing thing to hear. “Nervous?”

“Terrified,” Harry replied at once, and Sirius snorted a little. He reached down and slid his hand over Harry's. It was a warm anchor that both comforted and unnerved Harry at once, but he was growing used to feeling both conflicting feelings simultaneously. The contact soothed his nerves like a cooling salve on a burn, and he turned his hand over so that they could lace their fingers together.

“We'll make it work, Harry,” Sirius said softly, and shifted close enough to him to brush a kiss against Harry's temple. “I know I've said that at least a hundred times, but...I want you to know that I mean it.”

“I know that you do,” Harry replied, and leant in to relax against Sirius's shoulder. Immediately, he pulled his hand from Harry's to wrap his arm around him. Sirius pulled him a little closer as Harry continued, “it's still...I wish I could shake this weirdness, you know?”

“Maybe this will help,” Sirius murmured, and lifted his opposite hand to Harry's cheek to slowly coax his head to turn and face the older man. Harry was about to ask what he was doing, when Sirius leant in and kissed him.

Harry's eyes widened in surprise, moreso when the kiss did not end as a simple peck like so many of their others had. Sirius shifted closer still, the quilt they sat upon bunching up between them, and his older, more experienced tongue darted out to brush lightly against Harry's bottom lip. Harry's breath hitched, and he reached out to tangle his fingers in the fabric of Sirius's jacket, uncertain whether he wanted to push him away or draw him closer.

Sirius reached up and carded his fingers through Harry's hair, then wrapped the same hand around the back of his neck, drawing out the kiss as Harry slowly and uncertainly parted his lips.

Sirius immediately took advantage of the small action, and his tongue brushed along Harry's, tasting and encouraging him in equal measure. Harry whimpered a little, lost in the sensation, and unconsciously he shifted a little closer.

A pointed cough sounded from a few feet to the left of them, and they reluctantly parted and both offered Andromeda an apologetic smile. Hermione, meanwhile, was looking at the circling gulls above them, her face very pink, but a pleased sort of smile on her face at the same time.

Sirius drew Harry's attention back to him, and Harry grinned bashfully at him while he shifted his position a little to hide how Sirius's kiss had affected him. The older man wrapped an arm around Harry's waist and squeezed him lightly. Harry leant into the contact and closed his eyes.

_If he keeps kissing me like that,_ Harry thought, _I'll definitely be ready in time for the consummation._

 

**1 st April, 2005**

 

Harry couldn't work out whether or not he was happy that it was the first of April.

On the one hand, he was finally able to focus on something that didn't involve the courtship, but on the other, he hated that it was in memoriam of a dear friend—brother, really—that had drawn him out of his bubble that he'd been in with Sirius for the last several months.

The small Ottery St. Catchpole wizarding cemetery contained far too many grave markers of people Harry knew, as far as he was concerned. He bypassed the Cedric's gravestone, past Luna's mother, and stopped before a particular grave, its marker utterly obscured by wreaths and bouquets of flowers, of gifts of fake wands and Skiving Snackboxes, and sitting next to the gravestone sat one solitary ginger twenty-eight-year-old.

“Hey, George.”

George hadn't been paying attention, and when he looked up his eyes were shining, and he smiled weakly at Harry in welcome.

Harry set down the bouquet of sweet pea flowers that he'd brought, and sat next to his friend. He didn't say a word, and simply sat with him. There was nothing to say—nothing Harry _could_ say. In the seven years since the war, George had vehemently refused to celebrate his birthday without Fred, and instead the family had taken to bringing gifts and offerings to Fred's grave, while George held a silent vigil with his brother.

Harry knew that Molly had tried more than once to get George to move forward—certainly Fred would not want his brother to mourn him so deeply. But Fred and George had been two halves of a whole, and Harry could guess that in many ways, it felt to George like was missing half of himself. Because of this, Harry didn't blame George in the least for not wanting to celebrate his birthday without his brother.

 

Harry did not know how long he sat there keeping George company, not even paying attention to the progression of the sun across the sky. When it had begun to dip towards the west, Sirius arrived with Andromeda to offer their own gifts—a trick wand from Sirius, and a wreath of white roses from Andromeda. George nodded his thanks to each of them, but his voice still seemed to be eluding him.

Sirius took Harry's hand as he sat down next to him on the ground, while Andromeda stood back and watched the silent vigil. It was only at dusk did Harry reach out and give George's shoulder a small squeeze before he took his leave, hand in hand with Sirius.

 

**7 th April, 2005**

 

Harry stared at his bare flat, empty save for his old Hogwarts trunk and the furniture he was leaving behind. Everything else had been moved to the new house, and the empty flat was yet another reminder that in less than twenty-four hours, he would be married.

To his godfather.

Even after so long, and how far they had come, the tiny voice in the back of his mind reminding him of his past relationship with the older man stubbornly refused to fade.

Harry plucked an éclair out of the bag he'd bought from the nearby bakery, and crammed the whole thing into his mouth.

“Wow, usually it takes years of practice to develop technique like that.”

“Shut up, 'er-my-knee,” Harry said thickly around the pastry, and she smiled at him, the corner of her mouth twitching as though she was just barely managing to stifle a grin. She closed the front door behind her, and handed him one of the packages she had been holding. “Your robes for tomorrow.”

Harry accepted the package and tore open the paper to find a set of white robes with silver piping, and like those he had worn for the Rite of Acceptance, this set also carried silver, ivy-like detailing on the cuffs and the collar. Harry felt his throat tighten at the sight of them, and a fresh wave of nervousness overwhelmed him as he gazed down at the articles of clothing. Not keen for his fear to show in front of Hermione and earn him another lecture, he dropped the robes and forced his gaze to his empty fire grate.

“So, I was thinking,” Hermione continued, her tone forced and light, as though she was pretending it was any other day, instead of the day before his wedding. “Well, a stag night isn't really a thing for these courtships, but why not you, me, and Ron go down to Hogsmeade for the day, and have dinner at the Three Broomsticks? It'll just be us—like old times.”

Harry shifted his gaze to his friend, whose expression seemed to be teetering between apprehensive and hopeful. He didn't answer straightaway, but mulled the idea over in his head. The last thing Harry wanted to do is go out and pretend like everything was normal—because it wasn't. He also wasn't exactly keen on how much of a _last night on earth_ feel it had.

But by the same token, if he refused, he'd be sitting alone, in his empty flat, waiting for tomorrow to come.

“Yeah, all right,” Harry said at last, and Hermione's expression, which had dimmed to an uncertain frown, brightened at once.

 

~*~

 

The pair Apparated to Hogsmeade and met Ron just outside of Honeydukes. The ginger grinned from ear to ear when he caught sight of them, and after he offered Hermione a quick kiss in greeting, he clapped Harry hard on the shoulder, nearly hard enough to make his knees buckle.

“All right?”

“Brilliant,” Harry replied with a note of sarcasm in his voice, and the trio laughed.

“C'mon, some sweets and Zonko's products are exactly what you need,” Ron said, and without another word he steered Harry into the shop.

 

In spite of Harry's reservations, he couldn't remember the last time he'd had so much fun.

They loaded their pockets with Honeydukes sweets(Ron and Hermione both insisting on treating Harry, completely ignoring his protests that they didn't need to do such a thing), and they wandered out to the Shrieking Shack, which turned out to be a bit of a bad idea, as it only helped to recall the horrors they'd seen during the war, and remember the tragic end of so many friends and loved ones. They were quick to wander back into town, and the remainder of their day was far more amicable, ending with a sumptuous meal at the Three Broomsticks, with huge tankards of butterbeer in front of them.

“Well, I'd definitely take _this_ over a stag night any day,” Harry remarked with a grin, then crammed a hunk of steak into his mouth.

“Easier and cheaper to organize, that's for sure,” Ron replied with a grin, “hey Hermione, when _we_ get married, maybe we should do a courtship!”

“Please, for the love of all that is holy, _no_. This whole thing has been so stressful, I'd be much happier if we just eloped,” Hermione answered at once with a short laugh.

“My mum would _kill_ me if we did that,” Ron said, “she's obsessed with huge weddings. I'd never hear the end of it if we did that.”

“You two are mad,” Harry interrupted, and grinned a little when the pair turned to him, almost as though they'd briefly forgotten that Harry was there. “All this marriage stuff is mental. Just...move in together. Live in sin, I think is the expression.”

The comment made Hermione laugh loudly, while Ron merely looked perplexed. Harry turned his focus back to his half-finished meal while Hermione explained the term to him, and shockingly, Harry found himself _smiling._ The last few months had been mental— _beyond_ mental, but despite how nervous he was for tomorrow, the support of his two best friends made everything a hundred times easier.

Harry knew in that moment that after all this time, he had been wrong.

With the support of his two best friends and his family behind him, he could, in fact, get through this.

 


	11. To Have and To Hold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This chapter is a little shorter than my usual, but I hope you guys enjoy it all the same. The final posting for this fic will be on Friday, not Thursday. My Thursdays are hella busy right now, so I'm pushing the last update back by one day. Sorry!

Chapter Eleven – To Have and To Hold

 

**8 th April, 2005**

 

It was at times like this when Harry was eternally grateful for the wonder that was the Dreamless Sleep potion. He was quite certain that he would not have managed it otherwise, but when he awoke the morning of his wedding, he felt as though he hadn't slept at all.

Harry was still in his dressing gown when Hermione knocked on his door and let herself in. Even from his spot on the floor before the fire he could smell good coffee and fresh pastry, but he didn't get up. Hermione seemed to understand, and she stepped softly over to Harry and pressed a paper cup into his hands.

The textile sensation of paper and wax gave him pause, and he looked down at the cup.

“It's muggle-brewed coffee, not wizard,” she explained, “somehow using magic to make coffee makes it taste...weird.”

Harry grunted his agreement, remembering the slightly off-tasting coffee they'd had at Hogwarts all those years ago and sipped the scalding beverage without comment. Though it perked him up, it also made his stomach cramp and made his anxiety more acute. Hermione set down the bag next to him and Harry pulled out a chocolate-filled croissant. He broke off a huge chunk with his teeth, and didn't say a word. He was afraid that his voice would come out as nothing more than a squeak if he spoke, and was therefore content to eat his way through the bag of food Hermione had brought with her, instead of trying to hold a conversation.

“If you keep eating those, you won't fit into your dress robes,” Hermione remarked half an hour later after he'd eaten not just a chocolate croissant, but also an enormous apple fritter, a raspberry danish, and four jelly-filled doughnuts.

“I'll use an enlarging charm on them if I need to,” Harry muttered thickly, “I'm just nervous.”

“And if you keep eating and puke all over Sirius at the ceremony?”

Harry glared at her, and pushed the bag away from him.

“I don't want to talk about it, Hermione,” Harry muttered, washing down the last dregs of food in his mouth with more coffee, “I know I can't avoid it any more, but...I just don't want to discuss it.”

“Well, we'll have to eventually,” she said gently, “just to go over what has to happen, but I just want you to remember that Sirius has done everything in his power to make this easy on you. He's not about to stop now. He loves you, Harry.”

“I _know,_ Hermione _,”_ Harry snapped, then immediately winced. “Sorry. I'm just...nervous.”

“I know, Harry,” she replied with a sad sort of smile, and she did not look even a little upset that he'd snapped at her. “But...one way or another, it'll be over soon.”

 

Harry and Hermione whiled away the afternoon in peaceful quiet. Harry would have liked to go out, have one last hurrah, so to speak, but his nerves at what was coming were so intense that he was certain that he'd faint if he tried to do anything too strenuous.

At three, after Harry had taken a vial of calming draught, Hermione sat him down, and with liberal amounts of hair potion, she got Harry's hair to behave—at least partially. When she'd turned Harry back around so that he could see himself in the mirror, he found his hair to be artfully tousled and sleek, like he'd just stepped out of some sort of high-end beauty salon.

“Wow, Hermione, I...wow.” Harry stared at himself, eyes wide as he tilted his head left and right, slowly taking in the sight of his hair. What amazed him most was how _grown up_ he looked, and not like an awkward teenager who had no idea how to control his own hair.

“You're welcome,” she said with a short laugh, “now come on, you need to get into your dress robes, it's almost time to go.”

Harry was amazed at how little the words unnerved him, and he chalked it up to being so completely beyond nervous that he had simply lost the ability to react anymore. Instead, he nodded stiffly and shuffled off to get changed.

 

Harry's initial observation of the robes were correct, and they were indeed very similar to the ones he had worn for the Rite of Acceptance. Instead of simply a shirt and pair of trousers it was the usual style of robes, and under them he wore a pair of simple white trousers and a button down shirt. It was a lot of clothing to wear in April, but like most things in the wizarding world, they breathed so nicely that Harry did not feel overheated in the least.

_Less than an hour to go..._ Harry thought, and swallowed his nervousness behind a neutral mask. He turned left and right in front of the mirror, taking in his appearance, and though he had to admit that he looked nice, it did not help to calm him at all.

A soft tapping on his bedroom door drew him from his thoughts, and he turned to see that Hermione had changed into a set of simple dress robes in a deep indigo. She'd done up her hair nicely, and though it was piled on her head in a messy bun, it still looked elegant enough for a wedding.

“I have something for you before we get going,” she said, and pulled a small velvet box from her pocket and handed it to him. “Call it a wedding present.”

He moved to thank her, but could not find his voice. Hermione seemed to understand, and merely smiled warmly in response. He flicked open the box, and inside was a round, shiny gemstone. It was a dark brown, almost black stone, and on the bottom it gave way to warmer streaks of brown and orange. Harry lifted it out of the little box and turned it over in his fingers, eyeing it curiously.

“It's a sardonyx crystal,” Hermione explained, “if you keep it on your person, it's supposed to help with marital happiness and...and things.” She paused, as though trying to find the right words, and looked back at him with a pained, but hopeful expression upon her face.” I just...Harry, I know you're nervous, but I want you to be happy.”

Harry looked up from the stone in his hand to his friend, and he could see her eyes shining hopefully, clearly nervous about how he might react to the small gift. He pocketed the stone, its small weight comforting, rather than nerve-racking, and he closed the distance between them as he enveloped Hermione in a tight hug.

Harry held Hermione close, resting his chin on her shoulder, and tried to put all the unspoken gratitude he simply couldn't put into words into the embrace. He felt a swell of warmth in his chest, and he clenched his eyes shut momentarily, somewhat overwhelmed at the idea of what would have happened if Hermione had been unwilling to help him through all this. At that moment, he had never been more grateful for her willingness to hold his hand throughout the entire courtship, and help him get out of the other side of it more or less in one piece.

“Thank you, Hermione,” Harry whispered softly, “thank you for everything.”

 

~*~

 

At exactly four o'clock, Harry and Hermione stepped out of his flat for the last time. Hermione had charmed the last of his things to transport themselves to his new home, and though his stomach was still in knots, he was nowhere near as nervous as he thought that he would be.

“Are you ready?” Hermione asked, and Harry laughed, though the sound that escaped him was closer to something of a hysterical giggle.

“No.”

“Great,” Hermione grinned at him, “let's go then.”

Harry gripped tightly to Hermione as she turned on the spot, and anchored to his friend, they were off.

 

They reappeared in what seemed to be the middle of a forest.

Harry blinked in confusion, and saw that Sirius, Andromeda, Molly and Arthur, the Ministry official, and the priest were already there. Sirius was wearing similar robes to his, though without the high collar or silver designs. A long table had been set up, holding a single golden goblet, a plate of small cakes. There were a few other instruments upon the table that Harry didn't recognize, but he didn't have a chance to wonder what they were for very long as Hermione had begun to hiss in his ear as they approached the others, explaining the significance of why they were outside and not in a chapel. In his nervous state however, Harry didn't catch any of it.

“Well, now that we are all present, are you ready to begin, Mr Black? Mr Potter?” The priest prompted, and both Harry and Sirius nodded. Harry was somewhat relieved to see that Sirius's stiff reaction to the question was very similar to his, and it was heartening to see that at least he was not alone in his nervousness over the proceedings. Hermione steered Harry to the left end of the table and looped her arm through his, while Andromeda mirrored her, positioning Sirius at the opposite end.

“In the traditions of our forebears, Sirius Orion Black initiated a courtship, which was accepted upon the thirteenth of August, in the year of 2004,” the priest began, “seven months, three weeks, and four days from that acceptance we stand here to join the Suitor with his Intended. Miss Granger, Mrs Tonks, please take leave of your charges.”

Hermione and Andromeda, almost in sync with one another stepped back from Sirius and Harry. Harry felt strangely abandoned without Hermione nearby, but he did his best to not let his unease show on his face.

“Sirius Orion Black, Harry James Potter,” the priest prompted with a great sweeping gesture of his arms, as though he was speaking to them before a large crowd, “please come forward and join hands.”

Harry stepped forward and Sirius mirrored him, the look in his eyes carrying such warm adoration that Harry felt himself go pink under the older man's gaze. They stopped just shy of one another, and they lifted their hands, twining them together. Harry felt his stomach churn a little, but kept his eyes fixed upon Sirius, and did not even turn when the priest's wand tip rested against the top of their intertwined hands.

“Sirius Orion Black,” the priest prompted, “do you so swear to bind yourself to Harry James Potter in love, loyalty, and trust, to treat him with respect, to love him unconditionally, in richness and poverty, in sickness and in health, from this moment forth until your death?”

“I do so swear,” Sirius replied at once, and his hands tensed around Harry's ever so slightly.

A red silk ribbon snaked from the priest's wand and wound itself around their hands.

“Harry James Potter,” the priest said, and Harry felt his stomach turn over. “Do you so swear to bind yourself to Sirius Orion Black in love, loyalty, and trust, to treat him with respect, to love him unconditionally in richness and poverty, in sickness and in health, from this moment forth until your death?”

“I d-do so swear,” Harry stuttered, and winced at the stammer that had slipped into his words. Sirius smiled warmly at him, and once more Harry felt the colour rise in his cheeks.

A second red ribbon shot from the priest's wand and wound around their hands, then the man tapped the ribbons once, and they faded. In its place, identical golden bands appeared on their ring fingers, with Harry's settling itself just in front of the engagement ring he still wore. Sirius pulled one of his hands away and turned to face the table, and Harry mimicked him.

“Now is the time for us to give thanks to the Gods for that which sustains us,” the priest said as he lifted a narrow, blunted dagger, its metal handle decorated with woven Celtic knots. He held the handle between his palms, blade pointing down, and he dipped the tip into the goblet, which Harry could see was filled with some sort of golden ale. “In like fashion may male join with female, for the happiness of both. May this union promote life; let all be fruitful, and let wealth be spread throughout all the lands.”

The priest removed the knife and set it aside, drank from the goblet, then offered it to Sirius. He accepted it and drank deeply, then handed it to Harry, who mirrored Sirius's actions. He handed it back to the priest, and he set it back down on the table.

The priest then lifted the plate of simple white cakes, held it high above his head for a moment, then lowered it back to a normal level, and balanced it in one hand while he lifted the knife again, and tapped each cake lightly with its tip as he spoke, “this food is a blessing of the Gods to our bodies. Let us partake of it freely. And, as we share, let us remember always to see to it that aught that we have we share with those who have nothing. As we enjoy these gifts of the Gods, let us remember that without the Gods, we would have nothing.”

The priest set down the knife and balanced the plate in both hands as he presented it to Harry and Sirius, “eat and drink. Be happy. Share and give thanks. So mote it be!”

“So mote it be!” echoed Sirius, Andromeda, Molly, and Arthur, and Harry imitated them, stumbling over the words a little. He could hear that Hermione had voiced the interjection as awkwardly as he had. Harry wasn't given very much time to dwell on this fact, as with a faint, encouraging smile, the priest first offered the plate to Harry.

With mildly shaking hands he accepted one of the cakes, then Sirius took one, followed by Hermione, Andromeda, Molly, and Arthur.

Harry bit into it, and he found the lemon cake to be studded with roasted sunflower seeds and bits of citrus rind. Despite the sweet cake in his mouth, it tasted like ash to him. Harry's gaze was drawn from the cake as he stared down at his left hand, unable to meet Sirius's eye as he watched how the gold of his wedding ring refracted in the low, dying sunlight.

He was tied to his godfather in marriage.

For life.

Even after everything, after so much had changed between them, Harry was still unable to shake off that last tendril of fear that was tied in so closely to what was to happen between them all too soon.

 

After the cakes, the ale was passed around again, then it was only after they'd signed the marriage contract (Harry's hands shaking so badly that he found it was a miracle that he could hold the quill steady at all) they shared their first kiss as a married couple.

Harry had lost count of the number of timed they'd kissed over the last few months, but as Sirius drew him close, their chests pressed together and the older man's arms linked at the small of his back, Harry felt his heart flutter a little in a way that he _knew_ wasn't out of nerves. His breath caught, and one of Sirius's hands moved to cradle Harry's cheek, his palm rough with hard calluses at the base of his fingers from his work with his motorbikes, but it did not feel unpleasant at all. Sirius's expression was unreadable, intensely focused as he gazed at Harry, and even though Harry could all but feel the mixture of anguish and joy coming off the older man, none of it showed on his face.

Harry couldn't quite understand why Sirius seemed to be trying to hide his feelings from him, especially on today of all days, but all thoughts fled from his mind as Sirius drew Harry closer and pulled him into their first marital kiss.

It was as overwhelming as every other kiss they had shared up to that point, and Harry lifted his arms to drape them uncertainly over Sirius's shoulders, linking his fingers together at the back of his neck to try and hide his trembling. A tear came unbidden to his eye, and when it trickled down his cheek Sirius brushed it away without pause.

“Its okay, Harry,” Sirius whispered as they broke apart, smiling sadly down at the young man. “I know you're scared, but...” his hold on Harry tightened slightly, “it'll all be okay. You'll see.”

Offering Sirius a small, watery smile, Harry nodded.

 

At the end, Harry took his time saying his goodbyes.

“Oh Harry,” Hermione said softly before she threw her arms around Harry's neck, drawing him into a tight hug. “I'm so proud of you. I know it's been hard, and you got through it, see?”

“Yeah, I guess I did,” Harry agreed, his voice a little hoarse, though at the same time he wasn't sure how much of his own words he actually believed. “Thanks Hermione, for everything. You've been amazing throughout all this.” Hermione smiled warmly, and gave him one more squeeze before she let him go and stepped back, turning to Sirius while Arthur and Molly approached him.

“Harry dear,” Molly said warmly, and pulled him into a hug. “I'm so proud of you. You were set another seemingly impossible task, and you got through it with grace and dignity. If Lily and James were here, I know that they would be as proud of you as I am.”

“Thanks Mrs—er, I mean, Molly,” Harry replied with a weak smile. He knew they all meant well, but their words of praise did little to make him feel any better, or any less nervous about what was to come.

Arthur took Molly's place, clapping Harry on the shoulder and offering his own words of encouragement, as did Andromeda. By this point, Harry was far too nervous to absorb any of it, and had taken to nodding a little and trying to smile. He wasn't certain how well he'd managed this reassurance, but the older adults seemed satisfied, at least.

 

“Ready to go?”

Sirius's voice jarred Harry from his anxious daze, the older man's arm slipping around his waist at the same moment. He knew the answer was _no_ , he still did not feel ready for this, but at the same time, he knew that he had no choice. Forcing a small, false smile, he nodded.

“Yeah,” he said at last, and Sirius smiled sadly down at him, as though he knew that Harry wasn't being entirely truthful. He looped his other arm around Harry in a loose embrace, and in a twirl of suffocating Side-Along Apparition, Harry found himself whirling towards the next stage of his life: the consummation.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Rite of Cakes and Ale in this chapter is from Buckland's Complete Book of Witchcraft by Raymond Buckland. You can see a picture of the crystal Hermione gives Harry [**here**](http://kathiskrystals.com/images/large/tumbled-2/tusar7a_1_LRG.jpg).


	12. Beginning to an End

Chapter Twelve – Beginning to an End

 

**8 th April, 2005**

 

The pair reappeared on the edge of the property of their new home, and Harry felt his stomach clench at the sight of it. His hands, which had been lightly resting against Sirius's shoulders, clenched into fists, the white fabric bunching in between his fingers and cushioned his nails, which kept them from digging deep indents into his palms. The move helped to conceal his minor trembling, and as though sensing his nervousness, Sirius tightened his hold on him.

Sirius stood there holding onto Harry in complete silence for close to a full minute before he untangled himself from him. With one palm pressed into the small of Harry's back, Sirius gently led him up the winding path and into their little cottage. Its interior was so different from the last time Harry had seen it, and it was almost as though it was a completely different house, and not the one that he had seen a mere handful of months before.

Sheepskin rugs now covered the cold stone floor, a collection of armchairs and a sofa circled a coffee table before the fireplace, including, Harry noted, his favourite armchair from his flat. The mantelpiece was adorned with framed photographs—Harry and his friends, his parents, his parents with Sirius, and about half a dozen of little Teddy over the years. A credenza and maple table filled the dining room space, it big enough to comfortably seat at least six people, though at the moment it was overflowing with wrapped gifts. From what Harry could see of the kitchen, it had been fully stocked, which included a number of enormous wrapped parcels on the counters, and Harry was absolutely certain that they were food packages that Molly Weasley had sent them over.

“Wedding gifts,” Sirius explained as he nodded towards the table, his hand still at Harry's back. Harry shivered; he could feel Sirius's fingers lightly trailing along his spine, clearly in a move that he seemed to think was comforting, but it did little more than heighten Harry's nervousness. Sirius's hand slid further up Harry's back to rest on his shoulder, coaxed him to turn slightly, and brushed Harry's lips lightly with his own.

“I know you're nervous, Harry,” Sirius began when he'd pulled back a little, “and I thought...well, maybe we should, er, go straight to it?” Sirius winced at the phrasing as he continued, “I just don't want you working yourself into a state. Of course, if you want to wait a little longer, we can—”

“—no,” Harry interrupted, and also winced at the shaking quality of his voice. “I—I agree, it might be best to, er, get it out of the way. It's not against you, I mean, it's sort of my first time, so I'm a little nervous.”

Sirius chuckled, though Harry understood that it wasn't at his expense. He was well-aware that _a little_ was a huge understatement—if his near-constant trembling was anything to go by. Sirius's hand moved to Harry's cheek, and traced the line of his jaw with his fingertips. He studied Harry's face intently, then bowed forward to kiss him gently.

“I know you're nervous, Harry, but you have no need to be,” Sirius repeated, then kissing him again before he added, “I meant what I've said over and over throughout all this: I will make it good for you. I want you to be happy with me, not miserable. I will do all that I can to keep my promise to you.”

“I—I know, Sirius,” Harry replied in the same soft tone of voice, “and I don't mean to make this harder, or—or make you feel bad, I just—” Sirius cut off Harry's rambling explanations with another kiss, this one a little deeper, his lips massaging over Harry's, catching his bottom lip between Sirius's, and holding him in a gentle, but firm embrace, like he was the most precious thing in the world.

“Come on,” Sirius murmured, his tone a little hoarse as he dropped his arms to take one of Harry's hands, and he gave it a small tug.

Feeling a little dazed, Harry followed after him without a word.

 

Inside the master bedroom, once bare, it now contained a large king-sized bed and a headboard made of some sort of attractive dark wood. The curtains were open and soft evening spring light filtered in and danced across the dark blue duvet. The other furniture in the room—the matching night tables, the writing desk, and the wardrobe all seemed to be made of the same kind of wood, and the whole design and arrangement was very attractive, and looked almost like something straight out of a home décor magazine.

It was not the furniture that drew Harry's gaze however, but the items that rested innocently upon the night table closest to the door.

A bottle of champagne, the outside of it frosted as though under some sort of chilling charm, two empty flutes, and two small, tinted glass bottles. Even from where he stood, Harry could see the labels, indicating them to be scented oils and lubricant.

Harry hadn't even realized that he'd stopped dead in his tracks until Sirius's voice drew him from his stupor.

“It's all right, Harry,” Sirius murmured, “I won't do anything you don't want me to, and I _swear_ that I won't hurt you.” Sirius gently coaxed Harry farther into the room as he spoke, and after the first two staggering steps, Harry followed Sirius's lead into the room willingly, and tried to not let it show just how nervous he was, though there was little he could do about his trembling hands.

Sirius sat Harry down, and Harry was surprised to see an edging nervousness in the older man's eyes. The sight of it, the knowledge that Harry was not alone in his apprehensive feelings about what was about to happen, all of it made him feel marginally calmer.

Sirius pulled back to open the bottle of champagne, and manually filled the flutes. He pressed one of them into Harry's hands, and the flute, which was pleasantly cool, felt almost ice-cold against his hot skin.

“To...” Sirius paused as he lifted his own flute, and looked over to Harry.

“...To Hermione and Andromeda, for putting their entire lives on hold to help us get through this.”

“I'll drink to that,” Sirius replied, grinning a little, and they clinked their glasses together.

They drank in silence, Sirius's free hand casually resting atop Harry's thigh, while Harry did his best to keep from chugging the drink. While part of him felt like being a little tipsy might make it easier to get through this, but the larger rational part of him knew that that would be a terrible idea. Instead, he sipped it, doing his best to draw out the moment for as long as he could without it becoming glaringly obvious that he was stalling.

 

The bottom of the glass came too soon for Harry, and he set it down next to Sirius's. He turned back to the older man, and his stomach gave a funny sort of jolt when he realized that he was looking at his _husband_. It was strange to him how the realization had hit him so suddenly, as it hadn't at the wedding itself, but Harry had no idea how to articulate what he was feeling, or indeed know himself _what_ exactly he was feeling.

A hand at Harry's cheek drew him from his thoughts, and he turned to gaze at Sirius, who was watching him him with a sad sort of smile on his face. His callused thumb brushed against his cheek soothingly, and Harry eyes fluttered shut as he tried to calm his racing heart. A pair of lips brushed over his own, and Harry found himself caught between nervousness and a strange sort of calm at the sensation.

“It's just us, Harry,” Sirius whispered softly, “no more chaperones, no more expectations, just us.”

“Just us,” Harry echoed, and his eyes opened again to look up at Sirius, while his bottom lip caught between his teeth. In that moment, Harry felt very small, childlike almost when he thought of what was about to happen, and how his own experiences did not even come close to Sirius's (if the way he kissed was anything to go by). Despite his fear at what was about to happen, at the same time, another, smaller part of his mind held a different sort of fear—the fear of disappointing Sirius.

“There's no one here to please but ourselves,” Sirius continued in the same tone, “no right or wrong way to do anything, you understand?” Harry nodded stiffly; he understood, but he was still unable to completely quell his fear at what was to come.

“You're too tense, Harry,” Sirius said softly, his opposite hand trailing up Harry's arm, making him shiver. “I don't want to hurt you. I want you to enjoy this.”

_I don't know if I can,_ Harry thought with a slight frown, but just barely managed to keep himself from speaking it aloud. He'd done enough damage already, as far as Harry was concerned, and he knew that Sirius was trying. Unfortunately, that knowledge wasn't exactly enough to calm his nerves completely.

Sirius leant in again, not waiting for Harry to answer, and kissed him gently.

“Take your shirt off,” Sirius whispered, “ _just_ your shirt. Then I want you to lie down on your stomach, all right?”

“W-what are you going to do?” Harry asked, but his trembling fingers had already moved to the buttons of his outer robe and began to unfasten them.

“I'm going to give you a massage, that's all,” Sirius replied simply as he leant back to watch Harry work at the buttons. It was difficult to miss the clear bulge in the front of Sirius's trousers, reminding Harry that on some level Sirius _did_ want this, which was a little bizarre for Harry to contemplate. Sirius made no allusion to it however, and acted as though he had all the time in the world to wait.

 

It felt to Harry as though it had taken several minutes to free the buttons of their confines, thanks in no small part to the way his fingers continued to shake. After he'd shrugged off the outer robe, Sirius took it from him and draped it over the writing desk's chair before he moved back to Harry.

When Sirius returned to his side, Harry began on the buttons on his cuffs of his shirt and the ones down his front. More haltingly this time, Harry peeled the garment off and tossed it aside, and dizzy with nervousness, Harry lay down upon the bed.

Harry pillowed his head on his arms, and tensed involuntarily when Sirius reached down to pluck his glasses off his face. He didn't move, but listened to the soft sounds of Sirius setting them down on the side table, and picking something else up.

Sirius pressed a soft kiss between Harry's shoulder blades and his breath hitched, but the older man did not speak as he shifted behind Harry, and he pressed his knees down on either side of Harry's hips. As something slick trickled along his spine, Harry gasped again, though this time from the temperature of the oil itself.

“C-Cold...” Harry mumbled, and shivered as Sirius's large hands descended upon him and began to work it into his skin.

“It'll heat up,” Sirius replied softly, “just relax. Don't think, Harry, just feel.”

Harry nodded a little as he closed his eyes, and tried to focus on the feeling of Sirius's hands, the scent of the oil he was using—he could smell vanilla, basil, and lavender—and just how _good_ it all felt. He had clearly done this before, and Harry was amazed at how Sirius had rendered him into a pile of jelly so quickly and so easily.

Sirius's hands started at Harry's shoulders, and very gradually worked their way down his back. He stopped just shy of the waistband of his trousers, clearly not missing the way Harry had tensed as he approached it, and worked his way back up his spine, adding a little more oil as he rubbed his shoulders and upper arms, then tried again.

Harry felt a little dazed from Sirius's expert ministrations, and somewhere in the back of his mind he knew that things needed to progress tonight, but he still couldn't bring himself to come to terms with what that meant. Sirius's hands approached the small of his back again, and Harry willed himself to relax. Sirius seemed to take this for consent, and his hands slipped under the waistband of his trousers.

He gasped, shocked by the intimate touch, but this time, Sirius didn't stop.

“Shh, shh, Harry,” Sirius murmured, his hands very gently kneading his tense muscles, “Harry, it's all right, just relax.”

Harry let out a low whimper, his body, which had been utterly relaxed and pliant mere seconds before, was now stiff as a board. He breathed slowly, but his mental reminders that Sirius wouldn't hurt him on purpose, paired with his breathing exercises, did little to help him calm down. Sirius's hands stilled, and he slid them out of Harry's trousers to gently rub at his back one-handed, while the other braced against the mattress as he leant forward, blanketing Harry's body with his own, and offered him a gentle, tender kiss.

“I won't hurt you, Harry,” Sirius murmured for what was likely the hundredth time, but his tone carried no irritation for repeating himself, “I'd never intentionally hurt you, I swear it. I know you're nervous, but if you're tense it _will_ hurt. Try and relax, all right?”

“A-all right,” Harry replied softly, and rotated his shoulders a little in an effort to loosen the newly taut muscles. He buried his face in his arms and breathed deeply as Sirius backed up a little and went back to work. He interspersed the gentle rubdown with light kisses to his shoulders and spine, and this time when Sirius's hands dipped below Harry's waistband, he managed to keep himself calm. He was still very nervous—it wouldn't be much of a stretch to say that he was terrified, but focusing solely on the physicality of it, and not _who_ it was, or _what_ was about to transpire seemed to be helping.

Sirius rubbed and squeezed his buttocks, never dipping lower, but merely getting Harry used to the sensation. As he did so, he began to slowly inch off Harry's trousers and pants, and Harry lifted his hips a little to help him along.

“That's it,” Sirius breathed, and pressed a soft kiss to the centre of Harry's spine, “just feel, Harry...”

Harry heard the distinct rustle of his trousers being discarded, though the sound of them hitting the floor seemed to be significantly heavier than it should have been.

When Sirius next leant over him, Harry understood why.

Bare skin brushed bare skin, and Harry shivered a little as he struggled to keep himself relaxed. Sirius pressed a soft kiss to the nape of his neck, and with one hand keeping himself balanced, the other he used to gently turn Harry's head, and he caught the younger man's lips in a warm kiss.

Harry could feel the heat behind it, and the desire, but he could also feel the tenderness in which Sirius had conducted himself so far that evening. Going at a tortoise's pace, easing Harry into intimate contact very slowly—Harry deeply appreciated it, and that, more than anything else, was helping him feel better about what was to come.

He shifted and turned to fully face Sirius, while the older man drew him closer as their kisses grew in their intensity. Somewhat haltingly, Harry parted his lips and extended his tongue as Sirius mirrored him, one hand still cradling Harry's cheek, while the other gently ran up and down his back. Harry felt a little strange about being completely bare in front of Sirius, especially since, now that he'd turned over, he could see that Sirius had yet to discard his own trousers, and lay next to Harry without a shirt on.

It was hardly the first time Harry had seen Sirius's bare chest, but given what was about to happen, the sight of it seemed to carry more weight. It didn't help that the older man was almost sinfully good-looking, and it both attracted and unnerved Harry all at once.

Sirius broke the kiss and stared down intently at Harry. He studied his face, his thumb brushing along Harry's cheekbone, while Harry's hands he had lifted to curl up against Sirius's chest, uncertain what to do with them, or where to rest them.

“All right?” he murmured, and Harry nodded, feeling rather flushed.

“I—yeah,” Harry replied, nodding again. At the last moment, he'd realized that he didn't need to say that he was still a little nervous. He was certain that Sirius could sense it.

“Sirius,” Harry tried again, his heart pounding hard in his chest, “I—I don't want you to e-expect too much from tonight, I mean...I don't want to disapp—” his stuttering explanation was ground to a sudden halt when Sirius kissed him, effectively cutting off his words.

“Nothing with you is ever a disappointment,” Sirius whispered, “there's nothing you could do that would make me feel like I am settling, or living a half life with you. Harry...I...you make me feel...more than I ever thought I _could_ feel.” Sirius kissed him again, and Harry returned the kiss with more verve than before. He shifted even closer to the older man, and his breath caught as Sirius's wayward hand moved from his back, across his hip, and gently cupped his half-hard cock.

“Sirius, I—” Harry began, but his words were cut off with another tender kiss.

“Just feel, Harry,” Sirius whispered as he began to gently massage the organ. Harry bowed his head forward with a soft groan, and his fingers dug into Sirius's chest while he pressed his forehead against his shoulder.

When Harry was fully hard, Sirius paused just long enough to trickle more oil onto his palm, then returned to slowly stroking Harry's cock, eliciting soft gasps and moans from him, his hips jerking awkwardly against Sirius's talented hand. Harry bit his bottom lip to stifle a whimper as Sirius squeezed his cock, and the small action was met with another kiss.

“No, no, Harry,” Sirius murmured said against his mouth, “let me hear you.”

Harry nodded weakly, and clutched at the older man, his breathing getting more and more ragged with every stroke. When he felt the pleasure begin to mount, Sirius's strokes slowed, but they didn't stop.

“Do you think you're ready, Harry?” Sirius murmured, and when Harry looked up, he could see the concern and longing in the man's gaze. Harry knew that it wasn't a trick question—if he didn't feel ready, he could still say no.

“Yes,” Harry whispered, nodding a little to back up his words. Sirius nodded and rested a hand against Harry's hip, beginning to turn him over, when Harry's hand shot out to stop him. “No, no,” he said quickly, eyes wide as he gazed up at Sirius. “When we do this, I want to see you. I—I don't want to hide from this anymore.”

Sirius's shock at Harry's words showed plainly upon his face, but it quickly shifted to a bright smile as he leant in to kiss Harry once in a soft, quick peck. He then reached for the bedside table to grab the lubricant and his wand, and the sight of the two items did not disturb Harry as much as they would have earlier in the evening, but his stomach did turn over a little as he watched Sirius's hands drop to the fastenings on his own trousers, and slowly popped them open.

Harry licked his lips unconsciously as he watched Sirius slowly pull down both the white trousers and his pants. Some of his earlier nervousness returned to him as he took in the sight of the older man's cock. It was cut, curved slightly, and of average length, but thick enough that Harry felt himself immediately tense a little. Sirius seemed to sense his resurgence of nervousness, and leant forward to kiss Harry again.

“Remember,” Sirius murmured, “if you're tense, it will hurt. Relax and feel.”

“Relax and feel,” Harry echoed, his voice a little breathy, “right.” Sirius smiled encouragingly, and picked up his wand.

“Now this might be a little uncomfortable, but it shouldn't hurt...” He said, then without any further forewarning he flicked his wand at Harry's arse, and he gasped sharply at the rushing, near-burning sensation that filled his rectum. “Cleansing Charm,” Sirius explained, and set aside his wand. Harry nodded a little, and eased back against the pillows as the older man gently began to coax Harry's thighs apart, and picked up the little jar that still rested on the bedspread.

Sirius slicked his pointer and middle fingers with the lubricant, and they shone in the low light of the rising moon. He adjusted Harry's position and parted his cheeks one-handed, then reached down to tease Harry's virgin entrance with his pointer finger. Harry gasped and tensed involuntarily, more out of surprise than anything else. A second later, he forced himself to relax again, and ever so slowly, the finger breached the tight ring of muscle.

Harry's back arched and another gasp escaped him. His hands dropped to the bedspread and he dug his blunt nails into the fabric, and immediately Sirius froze.

“Am I hurting you?”

“No,” Harry replied softly, his chest heaving a little, “just...it feels a little strange.”

“It'll get better, I promise,” Sirius said, and slid the digit in farther, stopping when he was in to the knuckle. He waited until Harry had relaxed a little, then added the second finger. It burned a little, but was a far cry from the pain that Harry had been expecting.

“Just relax and feel, Harry,” Sirius whispered again, repeating the words over and over almost like a chant, while he slid the two fingers in and out of him, scissoring them to adequately stretch him before he continued. Harry didn't hate the feeling, but he struggled to see how it could be pleasurable, either.

Sirius seemed to have deigned Harry sufficiently prepared, and withdrew his fingers. Harry opened his eyes and sat up a little to watch Sirius slick his own cock with the lubricant, then gasped sharply as Sirius took hold of Harry's legs and lifted them to rest his calves against his shoulders, which caused him to slip a little and fall back on the bedspread. Harry swallowed the last of his nervousness, jumbled together in his mind with his hazy arousal while Sirius positioned himself. He looked down at Harry, a confusing jumble of emotions registering in his eyes, and he leant forward to capture Harry's lips in a tender kiss as he ever so slowly began to slide forward into Harry's waiting hole.

Harry's breath escaped him as a sharp hiss at the sensation. Even with Sirius's careful preparation, it still hurt a little, and at his vocalization, Sirius slowed down a little. He kept himself balanced with one hand, the other moving to card through Harry's hair, stroke his cheek and throat, and all the while he continued to kiss him.

“It's all right, Harry,” Sirius whispered against his mouth, “just relax, that's it...” his own voice shook a little, though Harry suspected that that was from struggling to keep himself from thrusting forward more quickly, rather than nerves. Harry nodded a little, and arched up to kiss Sirius again as the older man continued to push forward very slowly.

At last, Sirius had sheathed himself fully inside Harry. The older man's breath escaped him as a shuddering gasp, and Harry, in turn, was panting harshly. Locked together like this, Harry had never felt so close to anyone in his life, and he understood at once why girls struggled to separate love and sex. To let someone into your body like this, it was beyond just physical, and once more, Harry found himself grateful that it was Sirius that the bloodline magic had fixated on, and not someone like Malfoy. Harry pulled back a little from their feverish kissing to look up at Sirius, and if the look he saw in his grey eyes were any indication, he seemed to be experiencing something similar.

Harry began to nod, consenting Sirius to move before the older man had even begun to ask. He seemed startled for a moment by Harry's ready permission, and Sirius leant forward to kiss Harry firmly before he drew out of him a little, then snapped his hips forward sharply.

Harry gasped, his body lurching back in time with Sirius's movement. It was nowhere near as painful as Harry had expected, but neither did it feel _good_. Sirius groaned as he reached down to grasp at Harry's hips, gripping him tightly as he drew out and thrust back in again. This time however, Sirius had adjusted his angle just so, and on the next thrust, Harry saw stars.

“Oh my _fucking_ God,” Harry breathed, and above him, Sirius chuckled softly. He leant in to kiss Harry again, but offered up no explanation as he continued thrusting into him, Harry's whole body jerking minutely with each thrust, but he was so lost in pleasure that beyond Sirius's touch, the rest of the world seemed to have fallen away.

 It went on for a very long time, but Harry never wanted it to stop.

Every time he felt himself getting close, Sirius would slow down or squeeze the base of Harry's cock to stave off his orgasm, and Harry would let out a whine of protest. Each cry was met with a soft chuckle, and Sirius would kiss Harry again as if in apology, and resumed his unforgiving pace.

Above him, Sirius was shining with sweat, panting hard, and whispered Harry's name like a prayer. In the full dark of night, Harry couldn't properly see Sirius any more, but that didn't matter—he could _feel_ him.

At last, Sirius's steady thrusts became more erratic, and the sound of his grunts shifted to something closer to soft whimpers, and Sirius moved one of his hands from Harry's hips to his leaking cock, and stroked it in time with his own thrusts.

After being denied for so long, Harry did not last more than a pull or two of his cock before he came with a cry, painting his abdomen with semen. Sirius pounded Harry's arse harder and harder, then suddenly went very still, and Harry felt his hot seed fill his arse.

Sirius slumped forward, panting harshly, and he closed the distance between them again, kissing Harry lightly before he began to draw his softening cock out of the younger man's spent arse.

“That was...wow,” Harry whispered, still panting a little, though nowhere near as hard as Sirius was. He drew Harry to him, spooning the younger man against him, one arm wrapped around Harry's waist, while the other reached for the night table again, and Sirius flicked his wand at the pair of them. In an instant, the heavy smell of sex in the room began to dissipate, and Harry felt the sticky semen and sweat fade from his skin.

“Wow is right,” Sirius replied, and pecked a kiss to the back of Harry's neck. “You were amazing, Harry.”

“So were you,” Harry said, pressing his back more securely against Sirius's chest as Sirius drew the blanket over the pair of them. “I was...I've been...I mean, ever since all this started, _this_ was the moment I was most nervous about, but...you made it good, like you promised. You made it...better than good.”

Sirius tightened his arm around Harry's waist, his hand splayed across his abdomen, and he ghosted a kiss against Harry's shoulder.

“I meant what I said, Harry. I don't want you miserable, or to feel like you're just settling. I want to make you happy.”

Harry had heard the words a dozen times before, but now that the deed had been done, Harry was able to fully believe them. He eased back into the embrace and closed his eyes, and at last began to feel that, despite everything, it really, truly, would be all right.

“I love you, Harry,” Sirius whispered suddenly, his hold on Harry tightening again, his breath tickling the back of Harry's shoulder and neck as he spoke.

“I...love you too,” Harry replied, and winced at how insincere he sounded. Behind him, Sirius chuckled.

“No, you don't,” he murmured, “but that's all right. Thank you for saying it.”

 

To Be Continued...

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: What a roller coaster this fic has been! This was probably the fic I've put the most work into research-wise, even though it's not as long as some of my other projects. I am incredibly thrilled and humbled by the reception it has gotten, especially since it's my first chaptered sirry fic. So thank you, a hundred times, thank you for all your comments, kudos, bookmarks, and enthusiasm! I was positively blown away by how you guys have been in the comments on every chapter of this fic and it's honestly left me speechless. I'll be taking a twoish-month hiatus to write the second and final part of this series: Patria Potestas: Bloodlines, and I do hope you guys will stick around for it.
> 
> **EDIT/UPDATE 25/04/2017 PLEASE READ.**
> 
> **Due to overwork, I have had a complete mental breakdown. I am not exaggerating, or trying to dramatize what has happened to my mental state, but from working on fanfiction near-nonstop for a year, plus schoolwork and everything else, I completely fell apart. The fanfic that happened to suffer because of this just happened to be this one. It has nothing to do with the content or the reviews this fic has gotten, it just sort of...happened.**
> 
> **So, I'm taking a break. _I do not know how long this will be._ It will be until I feel okay enough to work on it again. Right now, even opening my word docs and looking at what I have already done sends me spiralling into a panic attack, and no, I will not post what I already have finished, because it is first drafts, and even editing it is too much.**
> 
> **At the moment, this does not extend to my other WIPs. It seems as though this is the only one I cannot work on right now. Please, do not pester me about it. Do not ask me when I will resume it. Do not talk to me about this series at all. You can find me on Tumblr under the same username for fanfic update stuff, but any messages or asks about this series will be ignored, or you will be blocked. This is nothing personal, it's for my own mental well-being, not because I dislike you.**
> 
> Thank you for understanding, and I really hope I can come back to this soon, I feel really guilty doing this, but it's just not healthy for me to work on this right now.


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